, 


WHAT  MANNER  OF  MAN 


WHATMAimEK 
OF  MAN 


BY  EDNA  KENTON 


THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

INDIANAPOLIS  PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1903 
THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 


MARCH 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  A  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN.  N.  Y. 


TO  MY  FATHER 


2229070 


WHAT  MANNER  OF  MAN 

It  was  a  clear  midsummer  day.  High  noon 
was  making  havoc  of  subdued  light  and  shade 
in  Thayer's  studio,  and  his  sitter,  who  had  been 
there  since  nine  o'clock,  was  growing  momently 
more  impatient. 

"You've  always  said  you  wanted  me  to  come 
at  the  same  time  for  the  sake  of  the  same  light," 
she  said  at  length  with  more  than  a  touch  of 
lazy  impertinence,  while  by  a  requested  turn  of 
her  head  she  exaggerated  to  hideousness  a  lurk- 
ing shadow  in  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  "Too 
far  ?  Then  give  me  a  photographer's  prop,  and 
stick  me  up  against  it."  She  moved  her  head 
carefully  back,  however.  "What  I  was  going 
to  say,"  she  went  on,  "was  that  early  morning 
light  is  emphatically  not  noon  glare,  and  I'm 
worn  to  fiddle  strings." 
1 


Thayer  made  no  reply  unless  an  annoyed  con- 
traction of  the  brows  could  be  called  one.  It 
seemed  to  content  his  sitter,  however,  for  she 
laughed  with  a  sort  of  tame  satisfaction,  and 
then  sighed  to  herself  as  the  warmth  of  the  day 
pressed  more  and  more  upon  her. 

In  a  few  minutes  Thayer  spoke.  "That's 
all,"  he  said  absently.  Mrs.  Davenport  rose 
languidly  to  the  top  notch  of  her  magnificent 
height  and  undisguisedly  "stretched."  She  hid 
a  slow,  lazy  yawn  in  the  curve  of  her  elbow,  and 
moved  over  to  a  great  shadowy  window  at  one 
end  of  the  studio — that  end  which  overlooked  the 
avenue.  Beneath  the  window  was  a  low  couch 
covered  with  prayer  rugs  and  heaped  high  with 
oriental  pillows  in  whose  embroideries  lay  con- 
cealed from  Western  eyes  all  sorts  of  quaint 
Eastern  proverbs  and  petitions.  She  sank  care- 
lessly down  on  all  the  mysticism  strewn  so  lav- 
ishly over  the  divan,  and  for  a  while  looked  un- 
seeingly  down  on  the  listless  travel  of  a  Lon- 
don summer  noon. 

Behind  her  Kirk  Thayer  painted  with  all  the 
tense  eagerness  that  comes  with  the  nearing  to 
completion  of  some  well  loved  work.  At  last  he 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

bent  and  wrote  his  name  In  thin  vermilion  let- 
ters along  the  lower  left-hand  corner. 

"Come,  Hilda,"  he  called  in  that  aimlessly 
pitched  tone  that  shows  ignorance  of  the  near- 
ness or  farness  of  the  person  addressed.  "Come, 
Hilda.  It's  done,  done !" 

He  raised  himself,  and  straightened  his  shoul- 
ders with  a  deep-drawn  breath.  Then  he  looked 
about  him  for  his  subject.  She  was  coming  to 
him  across  the  floor,  her  bronze  velvet  gown  mak- 
ing a  rusty  shine  wherever  the  light  caught  it. 
He  turned  back  to  the  easel  and  gave  it  a  quick 
twist  to  the  left. 

"That's  better,"  he  said.  "Ah,  isn't  sKe  a 
raving  darling,  my  Portrait  of  a  Lady !  That 
neck  line,  Hilda !  For  a  little  while  after  I  got 
that  I  forgot  there  was  a  face  to  follow.  And 
the  baffling  eyes,  and  that  darling  upper  lip. 
That's  a  trick  pure  and  simple,  a  dirty,  Irish 
shenanigan  trick!  That  foreshortening  to  the 
left  does  it;  makes  you  look  like  one  of  the 
Furies  compressed  like  baled  hay.  Ah,  you 
beauty,  you  beauty!" 

Hilda  Davenport  stood  before  Her  portrait  in 
silence,  trying  to  crush  down  the  swift  anger 
3 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

that  had  leaped  to  life  within  her  at  first  sight 
of  the  finished  likeness.  That  any  man  should 
dare  to  see  her  so,  and  so  daring,  should  go  fur- 
ther in  his  boldness  and  paint  her  hidden  soul 
upon  a  stretch  of  canvas!  For  that  she  was 
looking  on  her  naked  self  she  did  not  try  to 
deny.  From  day  to  day  she  had  watched  the 
likeness  grow,  and  had  caught  Thayer's  thought 
of  portrayal,  but  within  the  last  hour  some  flash 
of  insight  must  have  guided  the  artist  in  his  final 
strokes,  some  insight  that  had  miraculously 
vitalized  the  whole  conception. 

In  its  way  the  portrait  was  a  simple  thing. 
There  was  no  involved  pose,  no  elaborate  back- 
ground, nothing  to  lure  the  eye  from  the  face 
that  looked  out  from  the  canvas.  And  in  its 
very  simplicity  lay  the  highest  demands  of  art. 
There  was  nothing  to  hide  bad  drawing,  noth- 
ing that  loud-pedaled,  or  slurred  over  faults. 
There  was  an  almost  insistent  bareness  about  the 
whole  thing. 

The  color  note,  if  there  was  a  color  note  in 

the  monotony  of  it,  was  bronze.     There  was  the 

bronze  gown  that,  after  all,  because  it  merely 

draped  the  shoulders  and  then  blended  into  the 

4 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

background,  hardly  counted.  There  was  the 
wonderful  bronze  hair  that  was  like  no  other  hair 
that  ever  crowned  a  woman's  head.  There  was 
the  bronzy  background,  remarkable  as  all  of 
Thayer's  backgrounds  were.  There  were  the 
eyes  that  when  all  was  told  made,  with  the 
mouth,  the  portrait.  The  eyes  were  bronze,  too, 
for  in  real  life  they  were  chameleon  eyes  that 
took  on  their  color  from  their  surroundings. 
Under  ordinary  colorless  circumstances  they 
were  brilliant  blue;  now  from  their  environment 
they  had  topaz  gleams  in  them.  From  no  point 
of  view  could  the  spectator  fasten  with  his  eyes 
the  eyes  of  this  pictured  woman.  From  out 
the  bareness  of  the  canvas  they  looked  through 
and  beyond  every  gazer  into  the  space  of  an 
infinite  solitude,  into  the  solitude  of  an  infinite 
woe. 

And  the  mouth  smiled,  resolutely,  bravely. 
Something  in  the  drawing  of  the  upper  lip,  of 
the  spirited  nose,  suggested  a  great  contempt 
for  the  blind  folly  of  the  world,  a  grim  humor 
that  had  to  come  with  the  far-sightedness  of  the 
clear-seeing  eyes,  a  humor  that  the  shallow  ones 
call  cynicism;  yet  it  was  all  only  a  suggestion, 
5 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

for  the  many,  no  sooner  come  than  gone;  and 
what  promised  to  be  a  great  discovery  was  for 
the  average  spectator  quickly  lost  in  the  haunt- 
ing loveliness  of  the  smiling  lips,  and  the  mys- 
tery of  the  great  eyes  that  persistently  shunned 
the  gaze  of  the  curious. 

She  turned  away  from  it  at  last  with  a  little 
shiver.  "No  one  ever  before — "  She  stopped 
abruptly.  Thayer  turned  to  her  with  a  remark- 
able flash  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes !"  he  said,  an  exultant  thrill  in  his  voice. 
"It's  your  living  soul  that's  caught  there.  Not 
another  man  in  all  the  world  knows  you  well 
enough,  even  if  he  had  the  power,"  he  added 
with  the  daring  assurance  of  genius,  "to  put 
that  look  into  your  eyes,  that  haunting  sob  about 
your  mouth.  I  thank  you,  my  dear,  for  this 
that  you  have  given  me.  And  now —  "  he  bent 
toward  her  eagerly  with  a  sudden  tenseness  about 
his  eyes. 

Mrs.  Davenport  laid  her  firm  hand  upon  his 
breast  and  pushed  him  back  from  her. 

"I  have  told  you  not  to  mention  that  to  me 
again,"  she  said.  Her  lips  were  smiling,  but 
there  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  removed  her 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

remark  from  the  realm  of  trivialities.  She 
turned  back  to  the  portrait. 

"I  don't  want  to  tell  you  yet  what  I  think  of 
all  this,"  she  said  with  a  queer  gravity  that  she 
could  not  explain  to  herself.  "When  am  I  to 
have  it?" 

Thayer  was  screwing  up  his  eyes  at  the  paint- 
ing. "When  are  you  to  have  it?"  he  repeated 
absently.  "Oh,  not  for  a  year  or  two;  not  be- 
fore it's  exhibited,  and  that  won't  be  till  next 
spring.  It's  aching  hard  to  wait." 

Mrs.  Davenport  stared  sadly  at  her  painted 
presentment.  "It's  too  real,"  she  said  at  last 
with  almost  a  tremble  in  her  voice.  "I  am  won- 
dering if  I  give  you  my  consent  to  show  it." 

"Most  of  our  contemporaries  on  this  delight- 
ful earth  are  muttonheads,  Hilda,"  said  Thayer 
cheerfully.  "They  will  be  lost  in  the  'tone,' 
the  'symphonic  color  key,'  the  'chiaroscuro'! 
Scarcely  one  of  them  will  see  beyond  the  layers 
of  visible  paint."  Then  he  took  her  forcibly 
away  to  another  part  of  the  room. 

"How  do  you  care  for  that  interior  as  far  as  it 
goes?"  he  asked  briefly. 

They  were  standing  before  a  large  canvas, 
7 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

unfinished.  Hilda  looked  with  great  interest  at 
the  sketchcd-in  plot.  Thayer's  whole  manner 
underwent  a  subtile  change.  His  assurance 
changed  to  pleading.  His  hand  fairly  shook  as 
he  struck  at  one  spot  on  the  canvas. 

"There's  where  my  high  light  comes,"  he  said 
nervously.  "I  wake  any  time  in  the  night  and 
wonder  about  it,  whether  I  can  get  her  figure 
vigorous  enough  against  this  or  that.  I  put 
in  dark  here  and  light  there.  I  scraped  it  all 
out  dozens  of  times  and  went  at  it  again  before 
a  drop  of  paint  went  on  the  real  canvas.  Three 
nights  ago  I  got  to  the  point  of  absolutely  clear 
conception  on  the  whole  thing.  All  I  need  now 
is  my  model,  Hilda."  Thayer's  voice  had  an 
eager  thrill  in  it. 

Mrs.  Davenport  stooped  for  her  length  of 
velvet  train.  "I  really  must  be  going,"  she  said 
lightly  with  a  conventionality  so  palpable  that 
the  next  moment  she  laughed.  "My  dear  Kirk, 
don't  make  me  think  you  are  still  at  that  stage 
where  you  can  cry  wildly  and  unappeasedly  for 
the  green  cheese  of  the  fickle  moon.  You  aren't 
ready  for  your  model  anyhow.  Wait ;  perhaps 
you  will  run  across  her  when  you  least  expect  it. 
8 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

And  by  the  way," — she  motioned  toward  the 
completed  portrait, — "since  this  lady  is  out  of 
the  way,  you  and  I  are  both  at  liberty  some  days 
sooner  than  we  thought  we'd  be.  If  the 
Frenches  and  Captain  Osbourne  and  the  rest  can 
start  just  as  well  day  after  to-morrow,  why  can't 
we  be  on  the  high  seas  then  instead  of  hanging 
about  London  a  week  for  nothing?" 

"I  presume  we  can,"  said  Thayer  almost  sulk- 
ily as  he  rolled  his  canvas  back  against  the  wall, 
and  put  out  of  possible  harm's  way  his  just  fin- 
ished picture.  Mrs.  Davenport  laughed  at  his 
petulance. 

"You  make  me  think  of  all  the  children  I  ever 
knew  rolled  into  one,"  she  said  as  she  slipped  her 
arm  within  his  and  drew  him  toward  the  door. 
"Come  now.  In  just  a  few  days  I  shall  give 
you  views  that  will  turn  your  brain;  color  that 
will  make  your  reason  totter  on  its  dainty  throne, 
if  all  that  Mr.  Davenport  has  told  me  of  this 
strange  North  Sea  be  true ;  and  then,  when  you 
see  some  new  wild  beauty  and  a  mass  of  color 
that  is  unearthly,  let's  call  it  quits." 

"I  don't  know  a  crazier  scheme  in  the  universe 
than  this  one  of  yours,"  volunteered  Thayer 
9 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

with  somewhat  brutal  frankness  as  they  went 
downstairs.  "What  on  earth  should  you  choose 
to  take  this  trip  for  when  you  have  the  Mediter- 
ranean, the — " 

"The  Mediterranean  has  been  sailed  over  till 
it's  worn  smooth,"  she  retorted.  "I  want  new 
things,  and  one  can't  find  them  by  following  the 
bell-wether  of  the  worldly  flock.  Ever  since 
Harry  went  on  that  madcap  chase  up  north 
I've  wanted  to  go,  too ;  and  now  I  am  going,  and 
if  you  care  to  you  may  come  along.  If  you 
don't—" 

"The  crazy  part  of  your  scheme  is  not  the 
North  Sea,"  he  answered  her  half  irritably. 
Thayer  was  always  worn  out  mentally  and  phys- 
ically upon  the  completion  of  any  important 
work.  "It's  that  beggarly  island,  with  a  lot 
of  beggarly  beggars  on  it.  Who  ever  heard  of 
the  place  or  the  man  you  want  to  see !" 

"My  husband."  Mrs.  Davenport  made  an- 
swer with  a  tilt  to  her  head  and  a  Hit  to  her 
voice.  "You  are  inviting  a  broil  when  you 
speak  so  of  his  greatest  hero."  She  stopped 
near  a  side  corridor  on  the  floor  below.  "I  wish 
you  would  have  my  carriage  for  me  in  a  quarter 
10 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

of  an  hour,"  she  said  briefly.  "Tell  Hughes  he 
may  carry  down  this  gown  in  a  few  minutes." 
Then  she  disappeared. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  came  down  to  where 
Thayer  stood  waiting  for  her.  She  had  changed 
her  gown  for  a  street  suit  of  brown  cloth,  and 
she  was  drawing  on  her  gloves  as  she  came  up 
to  him. 

"You  didn't  think  I  was  displeased,  Kirk?" 
she  asked  with  a  simple  directness  that  was  a 
part  of  her  complexity.  "The  likeness  is — like 
a  search-light."  She  shivered  slightly.  "It  is 
only  that  no  one  ever  before — it  is  uncanny!" 
She  finished  with  a  thrill  of  emotion  in  her  voice 
that  made  Thayer  stare  at  her  curiously.  Then 
he  laughed. 

"You  strange,  strange  thing,"  he  murmured. 
"Strange  to  all  the  world  but  me!  I  know  you 
through  and  through,  and  if  it  is  to  be  a  contest 
of  wills  between  us  before  you  sit  for  me  again, 
so  be  it!"  He  hurled  a  great  red  rose  at  her 
with  startling  directness,  and  stood  off  laughing 
at  her.  All  of  a  sudden  his  anger  and  petulance 
against  her  had  died  down.  But  her  mood  had 
changed,  too.  She  did  not  stoop  to  take  up  the 
11 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

challenge.  The  softness  in  her  eyes  went  away, 
and  she  only  laughed  with  an  indifference  that 
was  stirless. 

"You  grow  melodramatic,  Kirk,"  she  said. 
"You  need  to  brush  up  on  what  makes  the  dif- 
ference between  cheap  and  real  effects.  Now  if 
you  had  handed  me  that  lovely  rose,  I  should 
have  pinned  it  on  my  breast  and  worn  it  dream- 
ingly  home.  But  instead  you  bruise  it — for 
what?" 

He  took  her  down  to  her  carriage  and  put 
her  into  it  with  all  the  absorbed  tenderness  that 
characterized  him  when  with  a  woman. 

"If  it  is  possible  to  rush  it  through  we  shall 
sail  day  after  to-morrow,"  she  called  to  him 
after  the  last  good  by.  Thayer  nodded  hap- 
pily. 


Far  out  to  sea,  off  the  wild,  rocky  coast  of 
Sutherlandshire,  there  lies  a  small  storm-beaten 
island  which  to  itself  owns  no  sway  of  English 
kings.  Britain's  monarchs  have  come  and  gone 
for  many  centuries,  but  royal  court  mournings 
have  meant  less  than  nothing  to  this  handful  of 
peasants  who  live  out  their  simple  lives  and  die 
their  stoical  deaths  regardless  of  events  that 
plunge  into  mingled  joy  and  sorrow  the  crowded 
London  marts:  "The  king  is  dead,  long  live 
the  king !" 

Theoretically  Rohan  Island,  Eilean  Rohan 
according  to  native  nomenclature,  belongs  to  the 
British  crown.  Practically  it  lies  to  itself  in 
the  fog  of  the  sea,  with  its  gigantic  moat  of 
raging  waters  ever  about  it,  and  by  its  dreariness 
and  inaccessibility  escaping  interference  from 
crown  or  crown  officer.  Few  Englishmen  com- 
paratively have  ever  heard  of  Eilean  Rohan. 
Fewer  still  have  ever  set  foot  on  its  rocky  shore ; 
13 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

for  the  channel  crossing  is  always  dangerous, 
and  Skerra,  the  nearest  point  whence  a  boat  can 
reach  the  island,  is  at  the  extreme  north  of  Scot- 
land, a  drive  of  ten  miles  from  Tongue. 

There  is  enough  in  the  preliminaries  of 
travel  to  discourage  the  most  ardent  of  tour- 
ists, and  after  all  is  said  and  done  and  the 
treacherous  waters  are  safely  crossed,  what  does 
the  island  offer?  A  few  miles  of  rocky  ground ; 
a  tribe  of  dark-skinned,  dark-browed  folk,  re- 
sentful of  intrusion,  simple  and  primitive  in 
thought  and  manner,  and  literally  wresting  from 
the  air  and  the  earth  and  the  fleeing  sea  their 
daily  sustenance.  No  cathedrals,  no  dwellings 
built  for  any  purpose  other  than  to  afford  shel- 
ter and  to  withstand  the  fury  of  the  North  Sea 
winds ;  nothing  to  entice,  much  to  repel.  Small 
wonder  that  the  Rohan  folk  have  lived  without 
interference  from  and  in  ignorance  of  the  world 
beyond  tHe  stretch  of  endless  sea  fog. 

Eilean  Rohan  lies  in  a  waste  of  water.  On 
clear  days, — and  they  come  but  seldom, — the 
bleak  coast  of  northern  Scotland  may  be  seen  to 
the  south  of  it,  but  always  through  a  haze  of 
violet  or  ruddy  gold.  About  it  rushes  with  end- 
14 


WHAT   MANNER   OP   MAN 

less  flow  and  murmuring  sob  the  chameleon  sea 
with  its  green  and  its  blue  and  its  purple  and 
grays.  Moment  after  moment,  day  after  day, 
it  dashes  its  smoky  spray  against  the  rock  girth 
of  the  island,  and  there,  baffled  and  bereft  mo- 
mentarily of  the  mighty  impetus  that  pushed  it 
thither,  it  sinks  down  as  the  smoke  of  a  passing 
steamer  dies  away  on  the  horizon. 

But  when  storms  come,  and  they  are  not  too 
seldom,  then  from  one  end  of  the  island  to  the 
other  roars  the  sea.  Like  a  mighty  maddened 
god  it  crashes  against  the  natural  barricade  of 
cliffs,  and  hisses  and  shrieks  and  bellows  in  fury. 
Then  are  nights  of  terror ;  terror  for  the  women 
in  the  low  cottages  on  the  island,  terror  for  the 
men  abroad  in  the  sturdy  fishing  smacks.  Too 
often  with  the  morning's  light,  swept  in  from 
the  engulfing  sea  along  with  the  tiny  fish  that 
strew  the  shores  comes  the  pale,  soaked  body  of 
many  a  Rohan  man,  primitive  in  life  and  in 
death  the  same. 

But  on  a  sunny  day  Eilean  Rohan  is  pleasant 

to  see,  for  then  the  sky  is  as  blue  as  ever  Italy 

can  boast,  and  its  sea  can  be  as  rippling  in  its 

calm  as  the  waters  that  lave  the  shores  of  sunny 

15 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

France.  Then  the  color  of  sea  and  sky  is  some- 
thing to  make  the  eye  of  a  Philistine  and  the 
heart  of  an  artist  ache.  And  as  the  day  goes 
on  and  the  sun  at  last  drops  into  the  welcoming 
ocean,  the  whole  spread  of  isle  and  waters  seems 
one  wondrous  jewel  stirred  softly  in  its  setting 
of  space  by  some  mighty  hand,  so  gloriously  do 
the  radiant  tones  melt  and  fuse  above  and  within 
the  shifting  waters.  Only  a  moment  of  climac- 
teric beauty,  then  the  intensity  of  color  grows 
dull  and  lusterless,  and  the  night  comes  out  with 
a  rush  and  the  vision  is  gone.  But  the  seeing 
eye  that  has  looked  upon  it  never  forgets  the 
sight,  and  for  it  the  color  never  fades. 

The  Eilean  folk  are  not  artists.  But  they 
are  not  Philistines.  Within  them  is  that  love 
for,  that  sympathy  with  Nature  and  her  mys- 
teries that  is  denied  the  child  of  cities  and  of 
courts.  The  beauty  of  their  island  home  is  not 
wasted  on  them,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
they  have  no  singers  to  blare  forth  its  praises,  no 
painter  to  splash  on  a  square  foot  of  canvas  their 
stretch  of  sea  and  color.  Deep  within  their 
souls,  too  deep  for  the  daylight  glare  of  speech 
and  protestation,  lies  their  appreciation  of  Na- 
16 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

ture,  her  tenderness,  her  mighty  force.  Their 
silent  worship  is  seen  only  in  the  uprightness 
of  their  lives,  in  the  valor  of  their  sons,  the  honor 
of  their  daughters.  And  their  daughters  do 
not  lack  valor,  nor  their  sons  honor.  Their 
code  of  morals  is  brief,  hardly  based  on  the 
Golden  Rule  of  Christianity,  for  they  are  not  a 
meek  people ;  nor  do  they  hold  meekness  in  high 
repute.  They  would  brand  a  man  a  coward  and 
disown  him  as  a  son  if  he  turned  the  other 
cheek.  But  without  preaching  they  practise 
honor  from  man  to  man,  from  man  to  woman; 
honor  from  woman  to  man,  and  from  woman  to 
woman.  This  is  their  complete  code,  and  who 
shall  say  that,  if  carried  out  in  its  entirety,  it  is 
not  enough.  In  nations  that  for  centuries  have 
had  the  fostering  care  of  priest  and  church  and 
king  and  court  and  culture,  how  many  have 
succeeded  in  raising  humanity  to  the  level  where 
they  give  and  demand  the  last  two  requirements 
of  these  island  folk ! 

For  centuries  The  Rohans  have  ruled  Eilean 

Rohan.     With  the  passing  of  the  old  chiefs 

breath  the  oldest  son  has  become  the  father  of 

his  father's  people,  the  one  whom  the  Rohanites 

17 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

in  unwitting  treason  call  their  king.  It  is  the 
patriarchal  rule  of  prehistoric  times.  In  The 
Rohan's  hands  is  life  and  death;  to  him  dis- 
putes are  brought  and  by  him  they  are  settled; 
to  him  the  lovers  of  the  island  come  for  permis- 
sion to  wed,  and  in  all  ways  he  is  the  good  father 
of  his  people. 

Ordinarily  The  Rohan  has  come  to  his  rule 
great  with  age,  but  with  the  last  change  of 
rulers  the  grandson,  not  the  son  of  the  ruling 
king,  had  taken  the  old  king's  place.  He  had 
come  to  his  inheritance  a  mere  youth,  but  for 
thirty  years  he  had  ruled  wisely  and  well  over 
the  few  hundreds  that  survived  the  hardships 
and  dangers  of  their  forefathers.  He  was  a 
man  fifty  years  of  age. 

Two  sons  he  had,  stalwart  lads,  either  one  of 
them  worthy  to  take  his  place  when  it  should 
know  him  no  more,  and  one  daughter.  The 
mother  had  died  at  the  girl's  birth,  and  the 
three  men  had,  almost  unaided,  brought  up  the 
tender  little  babe  to  a  beautiful  maidenhood.  At 
her  fifteenth  birthday  she  had  formally  assumed 
control  of  her  father's  house,  and  for  a  year 
had  been  in  charge  of  all  the  household  manage- 
18 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

ment.  Old  Marget,  the  woman  who  had  come 
to  the  home  with  The  Rohan's  bride,  was  still 
there;  but  the  daughter  of  the  house  was  its 
mistress. 

The  Rohan's  house  stood  a  little  to  one  side  of 
the  group  of  cottages  in  the  main  village  that 
sheltered  most  of  the  island's  inhabitants.  It 
differed  not  at  all  from  the  prevailing  style  of 
architecture,  save  that  it  was  perhaps  a  little 
larger,  and  its  foundations  somewhat  more  solid 
and  imposing-looking  by  comparison.  Its  front 
faced  to  the  south,  and  the  entrance  door 
opened  directly  upon  a  large  hall  that  ran  the 
length  of  the  house.  From  its  center  a  rude 
stairway  rose  to  what  was  hardly  more  than  a 
loft  above.  The  architectural  need  for  low- 
ness  of  structure  forbade  a  two-story  dwelling, 
and  in  the  bed-rooms  above  it  was  impossible  for 
a  full-grown  man  to  stand  erect  anywhere  other 
than  in  the  center  of  the  room,  so  sKarply  did 
the  roof  slope  downward. 

On  each  side  were  rooms,  three  in  all.     The 

main  living  room  of  the  house  was  as  large  as 

the  other  two  combined,  being  in  fact  half  the 

lower  part  of  the  house.    It  served  not  only  as 

19 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

a  living  room,  but  for  cooking  and  dining  pur- 
poses as  well.  At  its  northern  end  a  great  fire- 
place yawned  whose  light  on  winter  evenings 
did  away  with  the  need  for  candles.  Its  fuel 
came  from  the  brine-soaked  driftwood  of  the 
North  Sea,  and  many  a  brave  ship's  mast  sank 
into  embers  within  The  Rohan's  fireplace. 

In  this  room  and  in  the  hall  there  was  no  at- 
tempt at  plastering.  The  walls  and  the  ceilings 
were  of  sturdy  oak,  darkened  by  time  and  wear 
to  a  blackness  as  rare  as  it  was  lovely.  The  nat- 
ural grain  of  the  wood  was  its  only  adornment ; 
there  were  no  attempts  anywhere  at  carving. 
A  heavy  round  table  near  the  center  of  the 
room  was  its  most  prominent  furnishing,  though 
rude-built  chairs  of  scant  comfort  stood  about 
the  walls.  On  the  other  side  of  the  hall  was 
the  room  of  state,  which  had  no  special  times  of 
opening  and  was  therefore  seldom  entered,  and 
back  of  it  was  The  Rohan's  bed-chamber.  Above 
were  the  several  rooms  for  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold. 

It  was  on  one  of  the  beautiful  afternoons  of 
their  short  summer  that  Clodah  Rohan  stole  off 
from  the  cottage  where  she  had  been  spinning 
20 


all  the  day  to  a  favorite  cliff  overlooking  the 
Scottish  shore.  There  for  many  months  she  had 
liked  to  sit  and  dream  about  the  great  unknown 
world  over  beyond  the  rolling  sea.  Even  the 
Scotsmen  of  the  mainland,  the  few  she  had  seen, 
were  mysterious  people  to  her,  and  she  had  seen 
so  few  of  them,  and  none  but  men.  What  their 
women  were  like  she  had  no  idea.  In  all  her 
life  of  sixteen  years  she  had  never  been  off  the 
island,  and  there  was  no  immediate  probability 
that  any  such  innovation  would  come  into  her 
quiet  life.  But  few  of  the  island  women  had 
ever  been  so  far  as  the  mainland;  travel  for 
their  womankind  was  not  encouraged  by  the 
Rohan  men. 

Clodah  therefore  had  but  little  on  which 
to  found  her  fancies  of  another  world  than 
her  own,  but  girls  are  girls  the  dear  world 
over,  whether  they  live  in  castles  or  clay- 
caked  huts;  and  despite  the  fact  that  the 
island  girls  were  not  supposed  to  dream  much, 
Clodah  had  for  many  months  been  weaving  to 
herself  all  sorts  of  pretty  tales  about  a  land  of 
which  she  had  no  knowledge  and  a  people  for 
whose  conduct  she  had  no  standards, 
21 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

She  was  at  that  stage  in  her  life  that  comes 
to  every  woman  child  when  a  mounting  fever 
within  makes  her  turn  from  the  commonplace 
life  about  her  to  something  that  has  in  it 
the  luring  fascination  of  the  unknown.  With 
some  girls  there  comes  with  the  fever,  a  fever- 
ish thirst  for  knowledge  that  will  not  be  slaked 
save  by  personal  experience;  with  others  there 
is  only  a  gentle  delirium  of  fanciful  imaginings 
which  passes  over  and  leaves  the  innocence  of 
girlhood  unflecked.  Clodah  would  not  have  told 
her  fancies  to  any  human  being,  although  she 
might  have  shouted  them  to  the  world.  Not 
that  the  world  would  have  been  interested  in 
the  flatness  of  them ;  the  world  does  not  care  for 
pretty  fancies  with  no  enticing  base  of  knowl- 
edge, either  of  self  or  others.  So  Clodah  only 
followed  a  great  natural  instinct  when  she  kept 
close  to  herself  her  dreamings  and  imaginings 
in  which  after  all  she  figured  but  slightly. 

To-day  she  was  sitting  on  top  of  the  red 
sandstone  cliff  that  forms  the  natural  southern 
barricade  of  the  island.  The  afternoon  was 
clear  and  sunny,  the  sky  and  the  sea  were  a  won- 
derful blue?  and  the  scanty  green  of  the  island 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

showed  vivid  and  joyous  against  the  dull  red  of 
its  rocks.  She  had  been  watching  for  an  hour 
a  great  white-winged  yacht  in  the  distance  that 
had  seemed  to  sway  softly  with  the  flow  of  the 
sea.  Suddenly  it  turned,  and  to  her  intense 
excitement  she  saw  it  driving  swiftly  toward  the 
island.  She  watched  it  breathlessly  while  it 
picked  its  graceful  way  among  the  reefs  and 
shallows,  and  finally  came  to  port  at  some  dis- 
tance beyond  the  pier  to  her  right. 

A  number  of  people  were  standing  on  deck, 
and  Clodah  bent  eagerly  forward  to  see  more 
clearly  these  wonderful  human  beings  of  another 
world.  As  she  did  so  a  woman  standing  rather 
well  forward  in  the  group  raised  her  eyes  and 
caught  the  flicker  of  the  girl's  scarlet  skirt  and 
cap  shining  like  a  redbird's  breast  against  the 
dull  stone  background.  She  beckoned  to  her, 
and  at  first  'Clodah  hesitated ;  but  when  the  ges- 
ture was  repeated  she  slipped  like  a  mountain 
deer  from  her  perch,  and  by  a  detour  that  only 
her  perfect  familiarity  with  the  path  made  safe 
for  her,  climbed  down  the  steep  stone  wall  and 
ran  out  upon  the  rude  pier. 

The  primitive  harbor  was  deserted  that  after- 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

noon,  for  a  great  mackerel  shoal  had  been  re- 
ported early  in  the  morning,  and  the  men,  to- 
gether with  many  of  the  women,  were  on  the 
other  side  of  the  island.  Only  a  few  old  crones 
and  little  babies  were  left  in  the  village  proper. 

As  Clodah  touched  the  shore  the  yachting 
party,  who  had  been  watching  her  perilous  de- 
scent with  admiration  and  fear  commingled, 
gave  a  united  cheer  whereat  she  was  mightily 
puzzled.  That  it  was  for  her  and  her  light- 
footedness  she  never  dreamed.  The  beautiful 
woman,  with  hair  that  shone  like  ruddy  gold  in 
the  sunshine,  was  leaning  over  the  polished  rail- 
ing of  the  vessel.  Her  yachting  gown  of  white 
flannel  and  gold  glistened  and  glittered  in  the 
sea  reflection  about  her.  She  called  to  the  girl 
with  a  wonderful  something  in  her  tone  that 
Clodah,  accustomed  as  she  was  to  the  plain 
speech  of  an  uncultivated  people,  had  never 
heard  before  in  the  human  voice. 

"Is  there  anything  to  see  here,  my  child?" 

"Naethin',  ma'm,"  Clodah  answered  simply. 

The  woman  turned  to  the  group  about  her 
and  said  something  to  them  laughing.  Then 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

she  called  again.  "May  we  land  even  if  there 
is  nothing  to  see?" 

"Oh  yes,  ma'm !"  the  girl  replied  instantly,  in 
confusion  lest  her  first  reply  had  shown  inhos- 
pitality,  a  crime  second  to  none  in  the  eyes  of 
her  and  her  people. 

There  was  a  little  hurry  on  the  yacht,  a  rush 
to  and  fro,  and  then  the  lowering  of  a  boat  that, 
to  Clodah's  eyes,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  the 
great  heavy  fishing  boats  built  to  resist  wind 
and  wave,  seemed  too  frail  for  a  fairy's  use. 
Within  a  few  moments  the  whole  party,  number- 
ing about  ten,  were  landed.  Several  women 
were  there,  but  Clodah  had  eyes  only  for  the  tall, 
goddess-like  creature  with  a  voice  like  bells  and 
a  face  that  transcended  in  loveliness  the  most 
daring  flight  of  the  little  islander's  imagination. 
She  was  talking  and  laughing  gaily,  and  most 
of  the  men  were  vying  with  each  other  as  to 
who  should  help  her  from  the  boat  and  carry 
the  red  sunshade  that  cast  such  a  light  over  her 
white  and  gold  gown.  They  called  her  Mrs. 
Davenport,  and  as  Clodah  led  the  way  up  to 
her  father's  house  she  listened  in  a  fascinated 


WHAT   MANNER    OP   MAN 

dream  to  the  ripple  of  laughter  and  the  ripple 
of  words  that  came  from  the  lips  of  this  woman. 
All  the  others  counted  as  nothing  to  Clodah 
beside  the  magnetic  charms  of  this  white-gowned 
creature. 

Some  one  after  all  had  conquered  in  the  merry 
battle  and  had  taken  possession  of  the  red  sun- 
shade. Clodah  glanced  at  him  shyly  once  or 
twice  to  see  what  manner  of  man  it  was  this 
woman  liked.  He  was  tall  and  finely  made. 
He  wore  a  cap  pulled  down  low  over  a  wealth  of 
brown  hair,  and  he  was  dressed  in  a  brown 
corduroy  hunting  suit,  in  calm  ignoring  of  the 
fact  that  this  was  a  yachting  party.  His  eyes 
were  dark  and  keen.  Once  as  Clodah  looked  at 
him  she  felt  him  looking  into  her  own  eyes  as  if 
he  were  piercing  through  them  to  the  thought 
beyond.  She  returned  his  gaze  quite  simply, 
quite  like  the  child  she  was.  His  eyes  were 
beautiful  in  themselves,  but  weary  lines,  deep- 
set  lines  surrounded  them.  Taken  altogether, 
he  was  a  perfect  picture  of  a  healthy,  virile 
Englishman  with  the  added  nameless  atmos- 
phere about  him  of  the  artist,  that  is  neither 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

English,  nor  yet  French  nor  Spanish,  but  is  part 
of  a  universal  type. 

"What  did  I  tell  you !"  Clodah  heard  the  lady 
say.  "Haven't  you  enough  color  now  to  satisfy 
you?  Isn't  the  clear  coolness  of  this  better  than 
the  coppery  heat  of  Africa?  Did  you  ever  see 
anything  quite  like  the  intense  azure  of  that 
sea?  Wasn't  it  worth  while?" 

Thayer  whistled.  His  eyes  were  still  on  the 
slender  girl  in  front  of  them. 

"One  of  your  greatest  charms  to  me  has  been 
that  you  know  how  to  find  out  what  you  want  to 
know  without  asking  questions,"  he  said.  "That 
last  set  of  remarks  is  calculated  to  smash  every 
fond  dream  I've  cherished  concerning  you.  I 
don't  mind  baring  my  very  soul  to  a  woman  if 
she  lets  me  feel  I  am  telling  her  of  my  own  free 
will!  But  when  she  fires  off  her  questions,  I 
want  to  get  to  cover.  Where's  the  rest  of  your 
show?" 

"The  king?"  Mrs.  Davenport  queried.  "The 
place  really  has  one.  What  would  your  dear 
Edward  say  to  that?  I  want  to  see  him.  Mr. 
Davenport  likes  him.  He  says  that  of  all  men 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

he  ever  met,  civilized  or  savage,  The  Rohan 
takes  the  cake!"  She  put  in  her  Americanism 
deliberately.  Then  she  called  the  girl. 

"Isn't  there  a  king  about  here,  my  child?" 

Clodah  drew  herself  up  with  a  resentment  that 
during  the  last  moment  had  grown  to  somewhat 
large  proportions 

"There  be  The  Rohan,"  'she  said  proudly. 

"And  would  he  give  us  an  audience?"  Mrs. 
Davenport  asked  gaily. 

"The  mackerel  hae  come,"  Clodah  answered 
simply.  "He  be  busy  to-day." 

The  group  broke  into  sudden  merry  laughter. 

"The  king!  He  goes  a-fishing!"  Only 
Hilda  Davenport  and  her  companion  noted  the 
trembling  lips  and  heightened  color  of  the 
girl,  and  with  that  delicate  intuition  of  hers 
that  was  like  a  sensitive  plant  Mrs.  Davenport 
drew  nearer  to  Clodah. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  dear?" 

"Clodah  Rohan." 

"The  Rohan's  daughter?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  answered  with  a  pride  that 
showed  itself  in  the  clear  gaze  of  her  eyes  as 
she  looked  directly  at  her  questioner. 
28 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

"I  wonder  if  he  would  let  us  see  him  for  a  lit- 
tle while,"  Mrs.  Davenport  said  gravely.  "Per- 
haps if  you  will  tell  him  that  I  am  the  wife  of 
the  Mr.  Davenport  who  stayed  here  several 
weeks  three  summers  ago — "  The  shine  in 
Clodah's  eyes  stopped  her. 

"Ah,"  the  girl  murmured  without  knowing 
she  had  dared  to  interrupt,  "he  was  the  man  who 
saved  my  brother's  life  for  us  all.  Ah,  you 
mus'  nae  go  till  my  feyther  see  you.  He  will 
be  grieved  if  that  carries  you  away."  She 
flung  out  her  hand  toward  the  yacht.  Then  she 
spoke  with  added  rapidity.  "If  you  will  all 
come  up  to  yon'er  house,  I'll  greet  you  there,  an5 
I'll  send  for  my  feyther,  an'  if  he  be  nae  on  the 
sea  he'll  come  to  greet  you.  He  cares  for  Mais- 
ter  Davenport." 

There  was  more  in  the  inflection  of  her  simple 
"care"  than  in  many  a  rhapsody.  She  stood  for 
a  moment  looking  at  Mrs.  Davenport  with  a 
growing  thought  crowding  into  her  eyes.  Fate 
was  something  dumbly  accepted  but  never 
preached  by  her  people.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  life  she  felt  the  force  and  meaning  of  the 
old  Greek  doctrine  that  she  would  not  have 
29 


WHAT    MANNER    OF   MAN 

known  by  name.  The  coming  of  Maister  Dav- 
enport had  been  an  event  that  had  meant  much 
to  her;  the  coming  to-day  of  this  flute-voiced 
woman,  his  wife,  was  a  wonder,  a  fitting  together 
of  detail  such  as  she  had  never  known  before. 

Her  absorption  in  the  marvel  of  it  made  her 
blind  to  the  fact  that  she  was  being  generously 
stared  at  by  the  gay  group  of  pleasure-seekers. 
A  princess  in  any  guise,  be  she  the  daughter  of  a 
king  crowned  or  uncrowned,  is  interesting. 
Whatever  may  be  her  defects,  physical  or  men- 
tal, she  has  at  least  about  her  the  halo  of  an 
ancestry  that  can  be  traced. 

But  Clodah  did  not  lack  physically  of  admira- 
ble points.  Since  she  had  first  appeared  to  them 
on  that  forlorn  strip  of  shore  like  some  change- 
ling, some  living  embodiment  of  legend  and  folk- 
lore, Thayer  had  hardly  removed  his  eyes  from 
her.  Her  simple  garb  with  all  its  picturesque- 
ness  had  caught  him;  the  blue  blouse,  the  short 
red  skirts,  the  scarlet  cap  crowning  masses  of 
hair  that  defied  description.  It  was  not  red,  it 
was  neither  gold  nor  brown,  but  something  of 
each  was  there  to  give  it  a  ruddiness  and  a 
shine  and  a  depth  that  made  his  color  sense 
30 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

tingle.  She  wore  It  In  simple  plaits  down  her 
back,  and  as  she  sped  before  them  in  the  eager- 
ness of  her  hospitality  he  drank  in  its  color 
thirstily.  He  noted  the  grace  of  her  untram- 
meled  walk,  the  sway  of  her  back,  the  exquisite 
though  still  undeveloped  curve  of  her  hip.  Her 
throat  rose  like  a  slender  stem  from  her  faded 
blue  blouse,  and  she  carried  her  head  with  an  air 
that  a  daughter  of  the  Vere  de  Veres  could 
hardly  have  challenged  without  disaster. 

In  the  intensity  of  his  study  of  the  girl 
Thayer  forgot  for  a  moment  his  place  by  Mrs. 
Davenport's  side,  and  took  some  rapid  strides 
to  where  he  had  for  one  delicious  moment  an 
unobstructed  view  of  the  girl's  delicate  profile. 
She  was  walking  freely  along,  her  hands  clasped 
loosely  in  front  of  her,  her  head  slightly  lifted. 
A  more  perfect  pose  no  professional  beauty 
could  have  attained,  and  Thayer  gave  all  honor 
to  its  added  merit  of  nature  and  accident.  Her 
eyes  that  seemed  to  have  caught  a  depth  of  color 
from  the  sapphire  sea  were  drooped,  not  enough 
to  hide  them,  but  enough  to  show  the  milkiness 
of  the  eyelids  and  the  dark  curve  of  her  lashes. 
Her  nose  was  small  and  slightly  upturned,  with 
31 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

two  peculiar  tiny  dents  just  above  the  nostrils. 
Her  lips  were  full  and  sweet  and  her  chin  was 
firm  and  decided.  Thayer's  artistic  rapture 
mounted  higher. 

"If  only  she  has  the  power  of  expression,  the 
power  to  show  what  she  feels,  for  she  can  feel 
with  the  intensity  of — "  He  felt  a  light  hand 
fall  on  his  arm. 

"She  is  a  king's  daughter,  my  friend,"  Mrs. 
Davenport  whispered  with  a  delicate  irony. 
"Remember,  I  come  here,  a  dependent  on  the 
island's  hospitality,  not  to  bring  discontent — 
and  worse." 

Thayer  threw  back  his  shoulders  with  an  an- 
noyance he  tried  not  to  show,  but  that  Mrs. 
Davenport  felt. 

"Your  muggy  London  can  not  furnish  a 
model  half  so  fair,  is  that  what  you  are  think- 
ing?" she  asked.  "Well,  I  agree  with  you. 
But  she  shall  not  be  tempted,  not  even  with  a 
crayon  sketch  this  afternoon.  Why  did  I  bring 
you  with  me  here?  You  are  like  a  breath  of 
Roman  fever,  Kirk.  You  blight  and  wither, 
and  why?  Not  for  pleasure;  you  are  never 
happy.  For  art?  A  picture  that  costs  a  soul 
32 


WHAT   MANNER   OF    MAN 

is  a  dreadful  thing.  Sometimes  I  think  you 
could  do  what  those  fearful  artists  of  the  Middle 
Ages  did — crucify  a  man  and  paint  him  while 
he  was  dying,  so  that  all  the  death  strain  of  the 
muscles  might  be  absolutely  flawless.  I  think 
sometimes  that  you  might  do  what  I  never  heard 
they  did — give  the  wooden  frame  a  little  jar  to 
rouse  him  from  a  temporary  lull.  Ugh! — 
sometimes — "  She  stopped  short.  Her  lips 
were  quivering.  Thayer  was  studying  her 
strange  emotion.  An  amused  little  smile  hov- 
ered about  his  mouth. 

"My  dear  Hilda,"  he  said  lightly,  "it  is  at 
such  moments  as  this  that  I  am  more  than  ever 
convinced  that  you  are  the  one  woman  in  the 
world  who  should  give  herself  to  me  for  the 
great  work  of  my  life.  Sometimes  when  I  see 
you  in  the  world  I  grow  fearful  of  my  reading 
of  you.  No  mortal  there  can  see  in  the  society 
woman  that  you  are  to  others  the  woman  that  I 
see  and  admire — and  reverence.  I  have  shown 
you  your  soul  in  your  portrait,  you  yourself 
confess,  as  no  one  else  has  read  it.  You  under- 
stand me  and  my  gifts,  and  you  do  not  condemn 
me  for  much  that  is  ruthlessly  condemned  in  me 
33 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

by  others.  But  after  all  I  am  easy  to  read.  I 
do  more  in  comprehending  you  than  you  do  in 
reading  me.  I  interpret  you,  your  gifts,  your 
swift  comprehension  of  art  and  its  ideals,  your 
standards  of  life  and  art.  You  have  done  me 
the  honor  to  praise  my  work,  the  tangible  evi- 
dences of  my  talents.  You  have  done  me  the 
infinitely  greater  honor  of  praising  what  is  bare 
and  poor,  my  description  of  my  dominant  idea 
for  a  painting  that  shall  put  all  my  past  work 
in  the  shade.  A  woman  who  can  understand 
without  seeing  and  without  question  is  one  in  ten 
thousand,  notwithstanding  all  her  sex's  vaunted 
intuition.  You  have  caught  at  my  poor  words 
and  have  seen  the  beauty  I  have  been  unable  to 
put  into  them.  And  then,  when  I  tell  you  you 
are  the  one  woman  I  have  ever  met  who  realizes 
my  ideal  of  the  woman  I  need  for  my  model  on 
that  work,  your  single  modicum  of  convention, 
hollow  and  reasonless,  asserts  itself,  and  you  say 
no!" 

Mrs.  Davenport's  lips  moved,  but  Thayer 
stopped  her  by  a  gesture.  They  were  standing 
alone  in  a  turn  of  the  path.  The  rest  of  the 


34) 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

party  had  gone  on  up  the  steep  path  toward  the 
house. 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  said.  "For  this  one 
moment  in  all  our  lives,  with  all  this  deliri- 
ous color  about  us,  forget  that  there  is  any- 
thing in  the  world  but  art  and  beauty.  If  I 
could  not  forget  that  for  a  space  now  and  then 
I  should  go  mad.  Then  tell  me  why,  when  I 
want  you,  need  you,  for  my  Christian  maiden, 
you  will  not  consent  to  grant  my  prayer.  Sup- 
pose it  is  in  the  altogether.  You  will  be  talked 
about!  Pah!  the  cackle  of  the  virtuous  matron 
is  appraised  at  its  true  value  in  these  days.  I 
tell  you  I  shall  disguise  your  face — somewhat — 
perhaps."  He  laughed  a  little.  "Never  say  I  am 
not  honest  with  you  even  in  extremis!  If  I 
caught  the  expression  I  wanted,  like  to  you  or 
unlike,  I  should  undoubtedly  let  it  remain.  My 
dear  Hilda,  I  could,  if  you  would  have  permit- 
ted it  or  have  made  it  worth  my  while,  felt  an 
overmastering  passion  for  you.  But  I  under- 
stand you  through  all  your  indifference  to  con- 
vention and  modern  standards  of  morals,  and  I 
know  that  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  you  have  been 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

married  some  half-dozen  years,  you  still  cling 
to  Darby!  In  spite  of  what  you  said  a  fort- 
night ago,  I  am  not  so  great  a  child  as  to  cry  out 
continually  for  the  cold,  lovely,  maddening 
moon!  So  it  is  not  the  inspiration  of  passion 
that  urges  me  to  choose  you.  And  it  is  undoubt- 
edly true  that  should  I  be  let  love  you,  and  you 
love  me,  and  you  should  let  that  sanctify  to  your 
queer  conscience  the  question  of  posing  for  me,  I 
should  forget  my  love  and  you  and  all  things 
else  in  the  fever  of  my  desire  to  rush  on  to  my 
canvas  the  perfect  realization  in  you  of  my 
ideal.  I  am  brutal!  Yes,  where  art  is  con- 
cerned." 

Mrs.  Davenport  listened  in  serene  silence. 

"I  long  to  see  that  picture,"  she  said  calmly. 
"I  know  you  have  it  in  you  to  give  a  wearied 
world  something  that  will  stir  it  out  of  its 
little  clevernesses  and  affectations  into  an  ap- 
proach to  primitive  emotions;  and  I  long  to 
help  you.  You  are  a  wonderful  man,  Kirk,  and 
I  worship  your  genius.  From  the  time  we  first 
met  there  has  been  an  uncanny  sort  of  sixth 
sense  affinity  between  us,  hasn't  there?  But  my 
friend,  I  am  afraid  you  will  never  gain  your 
36 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

heart's  desire  through  me.  I  fall  short  and  fail 
you  there.  I  know  all  your  arguments  by  heart. 
I  know  the  miserable  horrors  that  modern  con- 
vention hides,  and  your  contempt  for  social  laws 
that  are  observed  for  themselves  and  not  for  their 
spirit  is  no  deeper  than  mine.  But — "  she 
raised  her  lovely  eyes  and  looked  straight  into 
his,  "though  I  fear  neither  you  nor  myself,  there 
is  something  within  that  tells  me  I  should  only 
make  a  miserable  fiasco  if  I  yielded  to  your 
desire.  We  are  neither  of  us  children.  We 
know  our  age  and  its  many  faults.  I  thought 
I  was  a  materialist  till  I  met  you.  Since  then 
I  have  doubted.  I  had  held  that  in  spite  of 
church  and  priest  we  are  only  poor  human  be- 
ings, created  not  a  little  lower  than  the  angels, 
but  a  little  higher  than  the  brutes.  You  drag 
poor,  shivering  mortality  down  to  the  brutes' 
level.  And  I  insist  by  the  very  strength  of  my 
repugnance  to  your  desire  that  I  am  something 
more  than  a  female  animal.  I  would  grant  you 
this  if  I  could,  for  your  gifts  are  great,  but  my 
— call  it  what  you  will — is  greater,  and  you  must 
go  elsewhere.  Call  this  final,  Kirk."  She 
turned  back  to  the  winding  path. 
37 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

"Come,"  she  cried  gaily,  "we  want  to  see  the 
king  and  something  more  of  the  princess."  She 
furled  her  red  sunshade  lightly,  and  led  the  way 
quickly  up  the  rough  road. 


38 


Within  The  Rohan's  house  was  subdued  ex- 
citement. Mrs.  French  and  her  daughter  Hel- 
en had  taken  on  themselves  the  self-imposed 
part  of  hostesses,  and  were  doing  the  honors 
freely  to  the  rest  of  the  party.  Clodah  had 
led  them  into  the  oak-beamed  hall  and  had  left 
them  there  while  she  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to 
revive  the  covered  embers  in  the  fireplace  and 
to  swing  the  porridge  kettle  above  the  growing 
flame.  Something  must  be  offered  to  her  guests, 
and  in  the  intensity  of  her  happy  hospitality 
never  a  thought  of  the  scantiness  of  her  re- 
sources entered  her  head.  Her  cheeks  flamed 
high  with  excitement  and  pleasure,  and  she 
stopped  from  time  to  time  in  her  quick  hurrying 
to  and  fro  to  catch  some  lovely  laugh,  some  pret- 
ty inflection  the  like  of  which  she  had  never 
heard.  Such  exquisite  women  she  had  not 
dreamed  existed;  who  rustled  when  they  moved; 
who  shed  sweet  perfume  all  about  them;  whose 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

voices  were  like  the  chimes  of  bells  that  float 
over  the  North  Sea  on  clear  Sunday  mornings; 
like  the  dreamy  echoes  of  Gling-gling  cave  far 
across  the  waves  at  Strathay  Point. 

She  threw  open  the  doors  of  the  great  oak 
cupboard.  What  should  be  spread  for  her 
guests?  Porridge  and  cream,  and  toast  thin  and 
crisp  and  golden  brown.  And  tea;  some  of  the 
precious  store  in  the  blue-figured  jar  should 
come  out  for  this  feast!  She  set  her  porridge 
cooking,  and  went  blithely  about  slicing  bread 
and  measuring  out  the  treasured  tea  care- 
fully into  the  brown  stone  pot.  When  matters 
were  fairly  started  she  gave  the  bubbling  por- 
ridge one  last  careful  stir,  and  then  ran  out  to 
the  cool  cave  under  the  hillside  where  The  Ro- 
hans  had  kept  their  butter  and  milk  from  the 
time  of  the  first  one  down.  It  was  on  her  re- 
turn from  that  errand  that  Mrs.  Davenport  and 
Thayer  met  her.  In  the  excitement  attendant 
on  preparing  for  so  large  a  company  she  had 
rolled  up  the  sleeves  of  her  blouse  to  her  shoul- 
ders, and  in  her  bare,  slender  arms  she  was  car- 
rying a  heavy  stone  jar  of  yellow  cream. 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

Thayer  stepped  forward  to  take  her  burden,  but 
she  swerved  away. 

"You  be  my  feyther's  guest,"  she  said  simply. 
"It's  nae  fittin'." 

Thayer  replaced  his  cap  in  its  old  careless 
place  on  his  head. 

"Some  other  things  are  far  less  fitting,"  he 
laughed,  and,  bending  down,  he  took  the  jar 
with  deliberate  slowness  from  the  girl's  embrace. 
"In  my  country,"  he  went  on  carelessly  as  he 
walked  beside  her,  "it  does  not  matter  that  a 
man  is  guest  or  master.  All  that  matters  is  that 
a  woman  is  a  woman." 

Clodah  looked  at  him  without  a  trace  of  the 
confusion  that  he  had  expected  to  see. 

"Then  in  your  country  isna  the  man  the  mais- 
ter?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Davenport  answered  the  question,  and 
Thayer  noted  with  a  pique  that  fired  him  to 
other  things  the  sensitive  flush  that  spread  over 
the  girl's  face  at  the  sound  of  the  lovely  voice. 

"My  dear,  the  man  is  the  master  wherever  he 
is,  but  in  'our  country,'  " — she  mocked  Thayer's 
intonation — "he  covers  it  up  just  as  your  mother 
gives  you  bitter  pills  in  nice  red  jelly." 
41 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

Clodah  looked  uncomprehendingly  from  one 
to  the  other.  Suddenly  she  realized  how  she 
had  been  dallying.  She  had  left  the  fire  hot, 
with  the  porridge  boiling  on  it.  She  looked  at 
her  two  companions  in  utter  loss. 

"Would — "  she  began  and  then  faltered.  To 
her  it  seemed  an  awful  thing  to  leave  a  guest  to 
bear  alone  what  should  have  been  her  burden. 
Mrs.  Davenport  came  to  her  rescue. 

"Tell  me,  child.  Ah,  yes,  the  porridge !  You 
should  not  have  gone  to  all  that  trouble  for  us, 
but  certainly  go."  As  the  girl  fled  Hilda 
glanced  sharply  at  Thayer,  opened  her  lips  as  if 
to  speak,  and  then  closed  them  resolutely.  But 
Thayer's  thought  could  not  bear  repression. 

"I  say,  Hilda,"  he  cried  excitedly,  "have  you 
noticed  that  girl,  how  like  she  is  to — you  ?"  The 
comparison  found  expression  as  it  dawned  on 
him.  Mrs.  Davenport  took  the  shock  very 
calmly. 

"Because  we  both  have  tawny  hair,"  she  said, 
"you  must  draw  the  comparison?  Ah,  Kirk, 
sometimes  I  think  it  is  an  awful  thing  to  have  the 
curse  of  temperament."  Then  they  reached  the 
house,  and  while  Thayer  stopped  to  deposit  his 
42 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

burden  Mrs.  Davenport  joined  the  group  in  the 
hall,  all  in  the  high  tide  of  enthusiasm  over  the 
strangeness  of  the  little  island,  and  full  of  pity 
for  the  life. 

"What  a  waste  of  loveliness!"  Mrs.  French 
sighed  once  as  Clodah's  little  figure  glanced  for 
a  moment  by  the  open  door  of  the  living  room. 

"I  wonder  if  we  shall  see  The  Rohan  after 
all,"  murmured  her  daughter.  "Are  you  sure, 
Mrs.  Davenport,  that  he  is  really  in  existence?" 

Mrs.  Davenport  had  gone  out  on  the  little 
green  that  surrounded  the  house.  She  was 
standing  looking  toward  the  west,  with  her  hand 
shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun. 

"So  sure  that  I  venture  to  say  he  is  coming 
yonder.  See,  that  must  be  he  in  the  lead.  I 
know  he  is  very  tall."  She  pointed  to  a  group 
of  men  and  women  who  were  coming  over  the 
winding  path  that  leads  to  the  north  of  the 
island.  Three  figures  led  the  group,  one  of 
them  slightly  in  advance  of  the  other  two.  They, 
were  hurrying  and  in  their  haste  were  outstrip- 
ping the  rest  of  the  party. 

"I  feel  nervous,"  Helen  French  sighed,  "al- 
most as  if  I  were  where  I  had  no  business  to  be." 
43 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

Mrs.  Davenport  smiled.  "There  are  others !" 
she  murmured  quite  to  herself  with  a  silent  de- 
light in  the  broad  American  slang  in  which  she 
indulged  with  discriminating  intelligence.  She 
glanced  toward  the' kitchen,  whence  was  coming 
the  tantalizing  odor  of  toasting  bread.  Within 
its  sheltering  doors  Thayer  had  sometime  since 
disappeared  with  his  cool,  sweet  burden. 

"The  girl  is  like  me,"  she  reflected  with  a 
curious  unrest,  "a  replica  on  a  smaller  scale. 
We  are  strangely  near  in  coloring — ah  well,  we 
leave  in  an  hour.  What  a  dear  little  sight  she 
made  as  she  came  scrambling  down  the  cliff !  I 
was  right;  it  is  The  Rohan." 

She  moved  toward  the  three  men  who  were 
approaching  swiftly  and  silently,  and  who  met 
her  in  the  same  demanding  silence.  By  common 
consent  she  was  left  to  face  them  alone. 

The  oldest  of  the  men  stopped  a  little  in  ad- 
vance of  the  others  and  looked  at  her  question- 
ingly.  He  was  a  tall  man,  bronzed  with  the 
tan  of  salt  sea  spray  and  sweeping  wind.  His 
face  was  heavily  bearded,  and  at  his  temples  iron 
gray  streaks  showed  the  fullness  of  his  fifty 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

years.  His  gaze  was  clear  and  untroubled  by 
any  trace  of  embarrassment,  as  he  waited  quietly 
for  an  explanation  of  the  unexpected  influx  of 
guests. 

"You  are  The  Rohan?"  Mrs.  Davenport 
asked  with  the  grace  not  one  whit  abated  that 
she  would  have  shown  at  any  European  court. 
"Perhaps  you  have  not  forgotten  my  husband, 
Mr.  Davenport — "  She  stopped;  the  faces  of 
all  three  men  had  suddenly  lighted  up. 

The  Rohan  answered  her  with  a  strong  Celtic 
brogue,  but  in  good  English.  "He  was  a  brave 
man,"  he  said  briefly.  "He  is  here  wi'  ye?" 

Mrs.  Davenport  smiled  to  herself  as  she  felt 
the  tension  of  the  group  behind  her.  No  one 
understood  better  than  she  the  scarcely  veiled 
curiosity  of  Londoners  concerning  her  married 
life,  and  no  woman  was  more  capable  of  baf- 
fling all  curiosity  she  did  not  desire  to  satisfy. 

"No,"  she  said  serenely,  "he  is  not  in  England 
now.  But  he  has  told  me  of  you,  of  your  hos- 
pitality to  him,  of  his  indebtedness  to  you,  and 
when  we  sighted  this  place — I  have  my  yacht 
down  there,"  she  added  carelessly — "I  wanted 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

to  stop  for  a  few  hours  to  bear  to  you  his  high- 
est regards,  even  though  he  is  in  ignorance  of 
my  being  here." 

The  Rohan  listened  gravely;  then  he  drew 
forward  the  two  young  men  standing  silent  by 
him. 

"This  is  my  son  George,  my  eldest  son," 
he  said  proudly;  "the  one  who  owes  his  life  to 
yir  husband,  he  who  will  inherit.  This  is  Don- 
ald Ross,  his  friend.  Ye  hae  seen  my  daughter? 
Ye  an*  yirs  are  welcome  guests.  Davenport  was 
a  brave  man." 

Just  then  Clodah  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
Behind  her  Thayer  loomed  in  all  his  magnificent 
height.  The  sound  of  her  voice  calling  them 
to  the  simple  feast  she  had  prepared  for  them 
brought  all  eyes  upon  her  and  her  companion. 
The  Rohan  stopped  and  surveyed  the  artist  in 
silence.  Then  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Davenport. 

"Anither  o'  yir  friends?"  he  inquired  with  a 
subtile  something  in  his  tone  that  made  her  smile 
irrepressibly  as  she  glanced  at  Thayer.  She 
knew  that  The  Rohan  had  looked  and  judged, 
and  that  as  far  as  island  standards  went  his 
judgment  was  not  incorrect. 
46 


WHAT   MANNER   OP   MAN 

At  her  assenting  nod  The  Rohan  went  for- 
ward and  greeted  Thayer  as  simply  as  he  had 
done  all  the  rest  of  the  yachting  party.  But 
Mrs.  Davenport  noted  what  added  a  touch  of 
keener  human  interest  to  the  Arcadian  scene 
before  her,  that  Donald  Ross  had  also  looked 
and  judged.  His  eyes  flashed  and  his  strong 
hands  twitched  nervously  as  he  glanced  quickly 
from  Clodah  to  Thayer  and  back  again  to  the 
girl's  flushed  face.  Mrs.  Davenport  followed 
his  swift  glance,  and  her  gaze  lingered  on  Clo- 
dah. The  girl  looked  up  suddenly,  and  as  she 
caught  Hilda's  eye  her  color  flamed  higher. 
As  they  were  entering  the  house  Mrs.  Daven- 
port caught  her  about  the  waist. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  me,  Clodah?"  she  asked 
softly.  The  girl  shook  her  head  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  that  she  could  not  force  back. 

"I  never  knew  a  lady  could  be  so  lovely,"  she 
faltered,  "an*  in  there" — she  stopped  with  lips 
that  were  quivering  too  much  for  speech. 

"Go  on,"  Mrs.  Davenport  urged  quietly. 

"He  said — he  told  me  in  yon'er — that — he 
said  I  was  like  to  you!"  There  was  a  great 
amazement  in  the  child's  voice,  an  amazement 
47 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

untempered  by  any  consciousness  of  the  man 
who  had  told  her  what  'she  had  just  repeated. 
Mrs.  Davenport  thought  with  a  swift  amuse- 
ment, and  inward  glee  at  Thayer,  that  the  emo- 
tional results  would  have  been  undoubtedly  the 
same  if  Helen  French  had  imparted  the  won- 
derful news. 

"Well,  you  know,"  she  began  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  tone  that  had  nothing  in  it  calculated  to 
bring  forth  any  other  tears  and  yet  was  full  of 
a  comprehending  sympathy,  "we  aren't  unlike 
at  all.  We  both  have — what  do  you  call  your 
hair — red?  And  our  eyes  are  on  the  same  style, 
only  yours  are  really  more  beautiful."  She 
stopped  and  laughed,  for  the  girl  had  drawn  a 
deep  breath  at  the  last  words.  Mrs.  Daven- 
port slipped  her  arm  about  her  with  a  tender 
touch. 

"Dear  child,"  she  said  softly,  "are  you 
just  learning  that  you  are  wonderfully  beauti- 
ful? And  then  the  harder  lesson  is  behind,  the 
learning  that  beauty  brings  more  pain  than 
pleasure  oftentimes.  Believe  me  when  I  say  it 
does  not  count." 

As  she  finished  she  knew  from  the  girl's  eyes 
48 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

that  all  the  last  part  of  her  little  speech  had 
fallen  on  closed  ears,  for  Clodah  was  looking 
with  almost  painful  fascination  into  the  face 
that  Hilda  herself  knew  was  a  most  beautiful 
one.  She  sighed  a  little  and,  moved  by  an  im- 
pulse that  did  not  often  come  to  her,  she  bent 
and  kissed  Clodah  softly.  Then  she  went  into 
the  room  where  all  the  guests  were  awaiting  their 
tardy  hostesses,  and  joined  them  as  they  gath- 
ered about  the  white-spread  table. 

The  linen  was  that  of  Clodah's  grandmother's 
spinning.  The  scanty  silverware  was  centuries 
old.  Clodah  poured  the  tea,  and  filled  the 
porridge  bowls  seemingly  with  no  consciousness 
that  any  other  place  could  furnish  a  luncheon 
more  to  be  desired.  The  Rohan  unbent  from 
his  taciturnity  sufficiently  to  tell  his  assembled 
guests  of  that  prolonged  fishing  trip  three  sum- 
mers before  when  they  had  taken  on  the  Amer- 
ican gentleman  at  Tongue  because  of  his  ear- 
nest solicitations  and  not  because  they  cared  to 
introduce  a  foreign  element  into  their  fishing 
body;  of  how  his  sturdiness  and  endurance  won 
their  good  graces;  of  how  at  last  in  the  great 
storm  that  broke  while  they  were  out  at  sea 
49 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

Maister  Davenport  not  only  bore  himself  like  an 
islander  and  a  seaman  born,  but  when  The  Ro- 
han's elder  son  was  seized  by  a  mighty  wave 
and  swept  overboard,  it  was  the  American  be- 
fore the  islanders  who  sprang  into  the  lashing 
gulf  of  distended  waves ;  and  how  through  some 
miracle  of  strength  and  fortune  both  came  back 
alive,  rescuer  and  rescued.  "He  is  a  man,"  The 
Rohan  finished. 

The  sun  was  sinking  low  in  the  west  before 
they  rose  from  the  table.  Soon  after  the  tea 
was  poured  Mrs.  Davenport  pulled  Clodah 
down  beside  her,  and  within  a  few  moments 
Thayer  drew  his  chair  over  to  them.  It  was 
only  by  slow  degrees  that  he  succeeded  in  gain- 
ing and  holding  Clodah's  attention,  but  at  last 
he  was  successful,  and  for  a  half-hour  talked 
to  her  of  painting  and  of  pictures  in  a  simple 
way  that  after  all  put  him  on  his  mettle;  for 
he  knew  that  the  terminology  of  worldly  art 
culture  would  not  meet  the  needs  of  this  simple 
child,  and  to  express  what  he  wanted  to  say 
in  terms  other  than  those  of  his  world  was 
an  effort  that  spurred  him  to  success.  Clo- 
dah listened  spellbound  to  all  he  told  her 
50 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

of  what  painters  could  do  with  their  brushes 
and  colors,  and  suddenly,  when  Mrs.  French 
hinted  at  the  growing  lateness  of  the  hour  and 
the  advisability  of  their  starting  for  their  boat, 
Clodah  sprang  eagerly  from  her  chair  and  ran 
to  the  door.  When  she  turned  back  to  them 
her  eyes  were  shining.  She  addressed  Thayer 
directly. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "if  you  can  wait  a  little  long- 
er, if  you  needna  start  just  now,  I  can  show  you 
what  looks  like  all  your  lovely  tales  sound.  I 
canna  tell  it  you,  I  dinna  know  the  words,  but 
come  and  see." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  then  with 
a  sweet  grace  she  extended  the  other  to  Mrs. 
Davenport.  Her  father  smiled  gravely. 

"The  lass  be  daft  o'er  a  sunset,"  he  said.  "If 
ye  dinna  care  to  see  it  tell  her  so." 

Clodah  waited  impatiently.  "They  want  to 
see  it,  feyther,"  she  said.  "They  care  for  lovely 
things,  an'  the  sun  is  setting  yellow." 

By  one  consent  they  all  followed  her  out  of  the 
cottage  and  she  hurried  them  impatiently  _lown 
the  road  they  had  come  over  that  afternc  /a. 

"I  canna  always  tell,"  she  said  breathlessly, 
51 


WHAT   MANNER    OF    MAN 

"for  the  lovely  sight  comes  but  seldom,  but  I 
think  to-night  it'll  be  flyin'  o'er  the  sea  to  wel- 
come you.  An'  the  best  place  to  see  it  is  where 
you  caught  sight  o'  me  this  day,  atop  o'  the 
Red  Rock." 

They  had  begun  to  climb  upward  now. 
Thayer  and  Mrs.  Davenport  followed  her  lead 
with  a  growing  expectation.  When  they  finally 
reached  the  top  of  the  cliff  that  from  Scotland's 
shore  seems  to  rise  precipitously  out  of  the  sea 
they  were  far  ahead  of  the  rest  of  the  party. 
Thayer  stared  at  Clodah  in  a  wordless  fascina- 
tion as  she  stood  there  in  the  buttercup  glow, 
her  tendrils  of  hair  swayed  by  the  gentle  wind, 
her  little  hands  folded,  and  her  deep  blue  eyes 
spangled  with  a  shining  expectancy. 

"It's  comin' !"  she  breathed  reverently.  "The 
sight  that  hasna  been  this  whole  summer. 
Look!"  She  raised  her  arm  and  pointed  to- 
ward the  golden  globe  hanging  just  above  the 
water's  edge,  the  edge  that  seemed  to  sway  and 
throb  in  longing  to  embrace  it.  The  light  had 
already  begun  to  change.  About  the  western 
horizon  close  to  the  sea  the  sky  was  purest  gold. 
'Above  where  it  blended  its  yellow  with  the  vivid 
52 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

blue  of  the  sky  a  blending  strip  of  clearest  apple 
green  hung,  and  above  that  through  a  mass  of 
powdered  gold  the  blue  emerged  again  triumph- 
ant. But  over  it  all  as  the  sun  sank  lower  a  rose 
hue  began  to  creep,  making  of  the  heavens  an  in- 
describable wonder.  Lavender  tones  stole  here 
and  there.  Clear  violet  streaked  the  gold.  Orange 
stripes  banded  the  horizon.  Pure  carmine  deep- 
ened from  the  rose.  All  the  rainbow  colors  were 
there,  and  more  modifications  of  them  than  a 
painter's  palette  holds.  And  the  sea  below  re- 
ceived it  all  and  gave  it  back,  gold  and  green  and 
blue  and  violet,  and  over  all  the  rosy  flush  of  the 
fading  day.  Then  a  purple  pall  began  to 
spread  slowly  over  the  sky,  blotting  in  its  creep- 
ing path  all  the  tender  color  of  the  opaline  west. 

An  utter  silence  held  the  entire  group.  At 
last  Thayer  drew  a  long  breath. 

"How  can  we  repay  you!"  he  exclaimed  with 
an  underlying  thrill  in  his  voice  that  was  sin- 
cere. "You  have  shown  us  a  hospitality  that 
we  had  no  right  to  expect  and  I  fear  did  not  de- 
serve. And  in  addition  you  have  let  us  see  a 
glory  that  is  not  of  earth."  He  bent  and  kissed 
her  hand  gently.  There  was  a  little  stir  in  the, 
53 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

rear  of  the  group.  Clodah  felt  a  heavy  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  and  looked  up  to  see  her  father 
between  her  and  Thayer. 

"We  hae  done  nothin',  sir;"  his  deep  voice 
made  answer  for  his  daughter.  "Hospitality  is 
the  law  o'  our  land,  an'  the  maid  didna  create  it 
for  yir  benefit.  Neither  did  she  make  the  sun 
set  to  order.  We  be  simple  folk,  an*  the  lass 
dinna  know  court  customs." 

Mrs.  Davenport  came  quickly  to  the  rescue. 
"Then  if  you  do  not  understand  our  customs 
you  must  pardon  us  the  readier  for  not  being 
aware  of  yours,"  she  said  with  a  ready  wit  that 
pierced  the  armor  of  The  Rohan's  pride.  He 
smiled  gravely  at  her. 

"When  ye  next  come,"  he  said,  "ye  must 
bring  yir  husband  with  ye.  He'll  find  a  welcome 
that'D  please  him,  for  in  spirit  he  is  one  o'  us. 
He  saved  my  son.  He  is  a  man,  a  man." 

Through  the  swift  falling  twilight  they  de- 
scended the  cliff  to  the  harbor  where  the  yacht 
stood  waiting.  As  they  went  down,  Clodah  be- 
side her  father,  the  girl  felt  for  the  first  time 
in  all  her  innocent  life  a  dull  pain  that  she  could 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

not  understand  gnawing  at  her  heart.  What 
it  was  that  hurt  her  she  did  not  know.  But  her 
first  step  along  the  painful  path  of  knowledge 
had  been  taken  that  afternoon.  For  the  first 
time  she  had  heard  of  another  life,  another 
world  than  her  own;  for  the  first  time  she  had 
seen  the  people  of  that  world. 

The  hearing  and  the  seeing  had  brought 
strange  questionings  to  her  mind,  new  emotions, 
new  desires.  Her  day  of  perfect  innocence  was 
over,  of  unconscious  life  for  the  joy  of  living. 
Up  to  now  she  had  walked  among  mysteries  and 
had  not  known  that  they  were  hidden  things. 
In  all  their  darknesses  she  had  played  with  them 
as  if  they  were  shining  sunlight.  Now  their 
heavy  shadows  began  to  darken  about  her,  and 
their  blackness  grew  more  impenetrable  with 
every  shoreward  step  she  took.  For  her  the 
joy  of  life  had  gone,  and  she  could  not  tell 
why  nor  where.  Life  suddenly  became  an  awful 
thing.  The  roar  of  the  sea  irritated  her;  the 
sea,  that  had  been  her  closest  friend  from  the 
time  she  had  rolled,  a  tiny  half-naked  child, 
upon  its  hard  soaked  sands !  The  glory  of  her 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

childhood  had  gone  out  under  the  shadow  of 
the  evening  purple,  and  she  watched  the  white 
wraith  of  the  yacht  steal  away  as  if  it  were  the 
ghost  of  her  slain  peace. 


56 


That  summer  day  marked  the  beginning  of 
a  new  life  for  Clodah  Rohan.  It  was  a  life  filled 
with  new  emotions,  new  desires,  strange  long- 
ings ;  a  life  into  which  her  old  one  did  not  enter 
save  as  a  mournful  memory  of  a  past  happiness. 
Yet  the  natural  sweetness  of  her  temperament 
was  not  affected  by  the  sudden  change,  and  with 
the  blindness  of  men  her  father  and  brothers  saw 
nothing  of  her  hidden  inner  life.  No  one  noted 
it;  no  one  saw  beyond  the  fact  that  she  was 
fonder  than  ever  of  solitary  wanderings ;  no  one 
perceived  the  subtile  change, — no  one  save  Don- 
ald Ross.  There  is  a  certain  love  which  poets 
have  united  in  calling  blind,  but  the  love  of 
Donald  Ross  for  Clodah  was  not  of  that  type. 
Toward  him  only,  perhaps,  there  was  in  her  a 
perceptible  change  of  attitude  which  he  alone 
was  quick  to  note.  Within  the  space  of  an  hour 
she  seemed  to  shoot  up  from  careless  child- 
hood into  an  unexplainable  woman.  And  what 
57 


WHAT    MANNER   OF    MAN 

brought  woe  to  Donald's  heart  was  the  fact  that 
to  all  others  the  spirit  change  as  he  saw  it  was 
hidden. 

Donald  Ross  was  of  the  soil.  The  secret  things 
of  a  woman's  soul  he  could  not  understand,  but 
with  a  refinement  of  feeling  that  is  too  often 
lacking  among  his  brothers  of  greater  polish, 
he  did  not  run  the  risk  of  tarnishing  their 
delicacy  by  rough,  untender  handling.  He  could 
only  stare  at  the  acts  inspired  by  emotions  he 
could  not  comprehend,  and  suffer  dumbly  within 
himself. 

"The  little  lass  is  a'  right,"  The  Rohan  said 
to  him  one  evening  when  Donald  had  ventured 
to  say  a  word  regarding  Clodah's  new  silences 
and  lonely  wanderings.  "Ne'er  mind  her,  lad. 
She's  growin'  up,  and  she  has  to  bide  by  hersel'. 
She's  nae  mither  to  go  to,  poor  bairn.  The 
women  they  hae  to  be  let  alone  a  year  or  so  to 
learn  theirsel's.  Wait,  lad."  And  Donald,  com- 
forted in  his  heavy  man  fashion  by  the  silent 
sympathy  whose  spoken  word  would  have  been 
an  insult  to  him,  curbed  himself  into  patient 
waiting. 

As  to  Clodah,  though  her  happy,  unquestion- 
58 


WHAT   MANNER   OF    MAN 

ing  childhood  was  gone,  and  she  was  struggling 
unaided  in  an  endless  labyrinth  of  strange  long- 
ings and  desires,  she  was  not  by  any  means  un- 
happy. The  Red  Rock  was  her  refuge,  and  on 
its  solitary  height,  with  all  the  vividness  of  her 
rich  imaginings,  she  could  live  over  every  word, 
every  tone  of  every  voice  that  had  fallen  on 
her  ears  that  wonderful  day.  Of  Hilda  Daven- 
port she  thought  with  a  quaint  reverence,  and  a 
longing  that  had  a  hopeless  yearning  about  it. 
It  was  her  first  passion  for  a  woman,  her  first 
passionate  love  for  any  human  thing,  and  it 
had  struck  deep. 

Of  Thayer  she  thought,  too,  but  with  more 
shyness,  a  little  distaste,  and  without  delibera- 
tion. She  would  perch  in  her  sea-blown  nook 
and  would  shut  her  eyes  and  fold  her  hands 
together  with  the  deliberate  intention  of  calling 
Mrs.  Davenport  before  her  mental  eye.  Thayer 
drifted  into  the  picture  now  and  then  without 
conscious  volition  on  her  part.  She  shrank 
from  the  feeling  that  the  memory  of  his  words, 
his  glances  stirred  within  her;  her  cheeks  always 
flamed  high  when  she  seemed  to  feel  again  the 
touch  of  his  lips  on  her  hand.  But  though  she 
59 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

had  changed  to  her  silent  island  lover,  and  with- 
in herself,  she  was  still  to  herself  a  mystery  that 
she  had  not  yet  the  skill  to  probe,  even  had  she 
had  the  conscious  desire  to  know  herself.  In 
most  ways  she  was  the  same  simple  child  she 
had  always  been,  with  a  few  added  dreams  that 
had  not  to  do  as  her  former  ones  had  done,  with 
birds  and  dancing  waves  and  flowers.  She  was 
awakening,  but  not  awake. 


60 


It  was  midsummer  of  the  next  year.  London 
was  almost  deserted.  The  season  was  well  over 
and  the  tide  of  summer  travel  had  already  set 
in.  The  season  had  been  remarkable  for  two 
things,  first  its  unutterable  dullness,  and  then  the 
exhibit  in  a  commonplace  display  at  the  Acad- 
emy that  spring  of  Kirk  Thayer's  painting, 
which  on  its  first  day  had  gained  recognition 
as  a  masterpiece  of  portraiture.  His  portrait 
of  Mrs.  Davenport,  finished  for  months,  had  not 
been  shown  until  then.  From  every  quarter 
ardent  praises  sprang  to  greet  him.  With  the 
exhibiting  of  that  painting  Thayer's  stock 
soared  to  dizzy  heights.  He  had  not  been  un- 
recognized before;  now  he  was  more  than  fa- 
mous; he  was  idolized. 

Mrs.  Davenport  had  gone  through  her  second 
London  season  with  even  more  success  than  had 
attended  her  first  one.  From  her  first  appear- 
ance she  had  been  a  marked  woman,  at  first  be- 
61 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

cause  of  her  peculiar  but  undeniable  beauty. 
Later  her  friendship  for  Thayer  made  her  the 
subject  of  many  a  whisper.  When  she  began 
to  pose  for  him,  when  she  went  to  his  studio 
time  and  again  without  observing  any  of  the 
forms  which  convention,  and  above  all  London 
convention,  demands  of  its  votaries,  the  hum  of 
talk  rose  and  buzzed  vigorously. 

Women  began  to  ask  imperiously  who  she  was, 
where  was  her  husband?  It  was  known  that  she 
was  not  a  widow,  and  her  presentation  at  court 
satisfied  society  that  she  was  not  a  divorced 
woman.  Her  affairs  from  the  first  were  gos- 
siped to  shreds,  and  the  exasperating  fact 
to  her  enemies, — and  she  had  her  full  share 
of  detractors, — was  that  no  amount  of  mys- 
tery, real  or  created,  had  the  slightest  effect 
upon  her  social  position.  From  the  first  it  had 
been  incontestible.  When  she  had  come  over  to 
England  almost  two  years  before  it  had  been 
under  the  most  flattering  auspices.  Her  intro- 
ductions, her  social  sponsors,  her  friends,  were 
incontrovertible.  So  in  spite  of  slur  and  innuendo 
she  had  gone  her  indifferent  way  before  the 
world,  and  from  it  had  reaped  what  she  had 
62 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

desired  from  its  close  hedged  fields.  She  was  a 
New  Yorker,  but  she  had  not  been  back  for  al- 
most two  years.  Just  now  she  was  on  the  point 
of  departure  for  Russia,  where  she  was  to  be 
the  guest  of  the  American  ambassador. 

The  afternoon  before  she  left  London  Mrs. 
Davenport  and  Thayer  wandered  into  the  Acad- 
emy and  sat  down  alone  before  the  portrait  that 
each  of  them  knew  to  the  last  stroke.  Yet  Hilda 
leaned  forward  in  a  curious  fascination  and 
studied  it  anew. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  sometimes 
wonder  how  after  all  I  could  have  let  you  hang 
me  there.  I  could  not  have  consented  if  I  hadn't 
known  how  mole-eyed  people  are." 

Thayer  was  in  a  moody  frame  of  mind.  For 
a  week  he  had  felt  the  fire  of  work  in  him  and 
his  material  would  not  come  to  hand. 

"I  have  succeeded  in  reading  you?"  he  asked 
absently. 

"To  the  last  breath  of  a  thought,"  she  whis- 
pered. "No  one  on  earth  knows  me  that  way. 
It  is  the  naked  ego." 

"Look  here,  Hilda,"  Thayer  broke  out  sud- 
denly. "For  God's  sake,  stay  here  in  London 
63 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

with  me.  I've  everything  drawn  in,  everything 
plotted  out  except  that  one  figure.  I've  got  to 
have  you.  Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  go  mad  if 
I  can't  get  started  to  work.  For  two  weeks 
I've  had  models,  a  string  of  them.  I've  posed 
them — God,  what  horrors  nature  can  produce! 
Each  girl  I've  told  to  go.  I've  paid  them  for  an 
hour  when  it  took  me  only  half  a  minute  to 
decide.  Something's  wrong  with  every  one,  hair 
or  eyes  or  arms  or  body.  Not  only  that,  no 
one  of  them  has  a  breath  of  inspiration  about 
her." 

Mrs.  Davenport  continued  to  gaze  at  her  por- 
trait. "We  have  gone  all  over  this  before,"  she 
said,  rather  wearily. 

He  struck  the  floor  with  his  stick.  "Look 
there !  See  what  I  have  done  with  you !  I  know 
every  shine  of  your  eyes,  every  turn  of  your 
mouth,  every  curve  of  you.  I'm  savage.  If  I 
don't  get  to  work  soon,  and  fearfully  soon,  all 
the  inspiration  that  I've  fed  on  you  for  a  year 
past  will  be  going." 

Mrs.  Davenport  turned  to  him  as  to  a  fretful 
child.  "Kirk,  you  ask  an  impossibility.  You 
have  painted  the  naked  ego  there,  but  the  naked 
64 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

body — no,  I  thank  you.  Don't  favor  me  with 
any  more  of  your  leveling  speeches;  they  don't 
carry  conviction  with  them.  It  is  impossible 
that  I  should  give  you  what  you  desire,  but  it 
is  equally  impossible  that  there  should  not  be  in 
all  of  London  or  Paris  a  model,  or  two,  or  three, 
who  can  give  professionally  what  you  de- 
mand of  my  friendship.  Frankly,  you  demand 
too  much." 

Thayer  laughed  harshly,  rudely.  "I  wouldn't 
ask  your  friendship  to  hand  over  if  I  didn't 
know  the  body  would  fill  all  the  laws  of  propor- 
tion. There's  not  a  model  to  be  had.  I've  gone 
through  every  studio  and  artist's  quarters,  and 
not  a  face  inspires  me.  My  inspiration  is 
dwindling.  Are  you  going  to  dare  let  that  idea 
perish  all  because  you  won't  drop  your  clothes 
and  let  me  put  your  body  up  against  a  pillar 
and  paint  it,  paint  it!"  There  was  despair  in 
his  voice. 

"It's  just  exactly  what  I  won't  do,"  Mrs. 
Davenport  said,  soothingly.  "My  dear  Kirk,  I 
am  an  honest  woman.  In  all  ways  I  sympathize 
with  your  artistic  passions,  and  for  your  genius 
I  have  an  abiding  reverence.  But  if  I  should 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

thrust  aside  some  of  the  few  feelings  I  still 
cling  to  and  do  what  you  ask,  though  I  have  no 
doubt  I  should  come  out  of  the  ordeal  an  honest 
woman  still,  will  you  kindly  count  on  your  long, 
lovely  fingers  the  names  of  those  great  ones 
whose  homes  would  still  be  open  to  me?  They 
need  not  know?  O,  yes  they  need.  There  are 
other  things  besides  love  and  a  cough  which 
can  not  be  hidden  from  modern  priers.  Then, 
I  have  never  forgotten  something  you  said  to 
me  nearly  a  year  ago,  that  day  we  stopped  at 
that  queer  little  island — do  you  remember? — 
that  you  might  change  the  face  somewhat — per- 
haps. Suppose  no  one  need  know  of  the  sittings, 
which  is  an  impossible  hypothesis,  do  you  still 
quite  dare  to  claim  that  I  should  not  be  be- 
trayed?" 

Thayer  was  staring  fixedly  at  the  portrait. 
The  last  words  he  had  barely  heard.  She  leaned 
back  and  watched  him  with  a  look  half  im- 
patience, half  amusement.  She  cared  for  this 
young  artist  very  sincerely.  As  a  study  in  types 
he  interested  her  intensely.  Of  moral  sense  in 
the  orthodox  acceptation  of  the  word  he  had 
none.  His  selfishness  was  absolute,  supreme. 
66 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

That  he  had  his  own  peculiar  code  of  honor 
was  undoubted,  but  it  was  peculiar,  and  it  was 
his  own,  and  therefore  it  was  subject  to  swift 
change.  In  his  private  life  he  was  a  type  of 
the  decadent  in  emotions  and  sensation  that  has 
flourished  like  a  rank  and  hybrid  growth  the 
last  quarter  of  a  century.  Yet  of  all  men  whom 
she  knew,  Mrs.  Davenport  admired  him  intel- 
lectually the  most.  Despite  the  decadence  of 
his  life  his  work  showed  virile  and  strong,  and  to 
it  he  was  all  devotion  and  untiring. 

She  possessed  the  power  that  is  beyond  most 
women  of  being  able  to  dissociate  her  personal 
feelings  from  all  things  moral  and  mental.  She 
had  found  Thayer  interesting  intellectually, 
worthy  of  study  as  a  type,  to  be  adored  as  a 
genius.  For  the  rest  she  accepted  him  as  he 
was,  and  let  the  tongues  of  the  merry  world 
about  her  wag  as  they  would. 

There  is  no  doubt  but  that  had  she  ever  so 
faintly  encouraged  it,  Thayer's  unstinted  ad- 
miration of  her  would  have  been  fanned  into  a 
pretty  blaze  at  which  gossips  would  have  gaily 
warmed  their  stale  feasts  of  reason ;  but  she  was 
by  no  means  a  sensual  woman,  though  her  na- 
67 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

ture  was  luxuriant  in  its  passions  and  tropical 
in  its  sensuousness.  Grossness  in  any  form  was 
beneath  her.  What  she  did  not  have  to  notice 
she  preferred  to  let  pass,  a  method  of  procedure 
for  which  she  was  often  censured ;  but  she  had  a 
philosophical  disregard  of  the  world  and  its 
sayings,  and  in  the  end  suffered  not  nearly  so 
much  as  the  woman  who  neglects  to  assimilate 
the  scientific  fact  that,  turn  as  she  will  and  smile 
as  she  may  in  her  endeavors  to  show  a  smiling 
face  to  all  the  world,  her  back  is  turned  upon 
half  the  world  all  the  time.  Mrs.  Davenport 
turned  when  she  pleased  and  smiled  when  she 
cared  to,  and  by  and  by  she  succeeded  in  edu- 
cating her  world,  without  trying  to  educate  it, 
into  the  settled  conviction  that  comment  touched 
her  not  at  all,  and  rebuke  amused  her  greatly. 
Thereby  was  her  life  made  brighter. 

For  several  moments  Thayer  sat  in  the  same 
rigid  silence.  At  last  he  turned  to  her  swiftly, 
his  eyes  glowing  like  coals. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  can  realize,  even  with 

your  infinite  sympathy,"  he  said  slowly,  "the 

fearful  hold  that  picture  has  taken  on  my  mind. 

It  is  eating  into  me.     It  thrills  me  like  desire. 

68 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

I  must  get  to  work,  and  I  can't  do  a  stroke  on 
it  now  in  my  state  of  mind  till  I  get  my  model. 
I  have  longed  so  intensely  for  you,  have  so 
hoped  that  my  common  sense  would  in  the  end 
prevail  over  your  prudery,  that  I  confess  I  have 
overlooked  one  other  who — might — serve.  I  had 
forgotten  her  entirely.  She  might  serve — even 
better."  He  said  the  last  words  slowly,  de- 
liberately. 

Mrs.  Davenport  laughed.  She  was  a  woman 
absolutely  devoid  of  personal  vanity  and  Thayer 
knew  it. 

"Don't  try  to  hurt  my  feelings,"  she  said. 
"They  aren't  near  the  surface." 

Thayer  rose  briskly.  "O,  I'm  not  trying  to 
hurt  your  feelings,"  he  replied.  "I'm  only 
studying  ways  and  means.  It's  going  to  be  hard 
to  get  her,  but  the  more  I  think  of  it  the 
more  I " 

"What  is  she,  so  guarded  or  exalted ;  a  prison- 
er or  a  princess?" 

"That's  it  exactly.  What  a  clever  woman  you 
are,  Hilda!" 

Mrs.  Davenport  started ;  then  she  gave  a  hor- 
rified  little   cry   and   turned   positively   white. 
69 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

At  last  she  laughed  faintly,  even  though  Thayer 
nodded  at  her  decisively. 

"Such  utter  nonsense!"  she  said  at  length, 
with  a  palpable  attempt  at  lightness. 

Thayer  stood  before  her  and  smiled  down  into 
her  eyes;  a  smile  that  was  not  pleasant  to  look 
upon.  He  spoke  categorically. 

"She  has  the  eyes,  she  has  the  figure,  she  has 
your  coloring  to  a  shade,  she  has — that  is,  she 
had  the  absolute  innocence " 

Hilda  rose  hastily.  Despite  her  desire  to  treat 
the  matter  lightly  and  her  horror  of  taking  any 
trivial  thing  seriously  she  felt  certain  words  rush 
irresistibly  to  her  lips. 

"Kirk,  you  are  mad  to  consider  such  a  thing 
for  a  moment.  In  the  first  place  she  wouldn't 
leave  the  island;  they  don't  let  their  girls  leave 
there  too  easily.  In  the  next  place — you  might 
as  well  make  it  the  first  one — you  would  be  shot 
down  like  a  dog.  Do  you  forget  her  father,  her 
brothers,  her  lover?  Do  you  hear  me?"  She 
gave  him  a  little  shake. 

Thayer  laughed.  He  had  suddenly  recovered 
his  gaiety.  "Yes,  I  hear  you,"  he  said  lightly. 


70 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

"Come,  haven't  we  mooned  here  long  enough? 
So  you  really  leave  to-morrow  for  Russia?" 

"I  have  a  great  impulse  to  make  it  Scot- 
land," she  returned  soberly.  "Kirk,  I  feel  it 
within  me  that  you  are  about  to  do  something 
reckless,  abominable.  Don't  look  so  bored.  This 
is  the  first  time  in  all  these  months  I  have  com- 
mitted the  great  blunder  of  lecturing  you.  It 
shan't  be  repeated.  For  the  first  time  since  I 
have  known  you  I  feel  puzzled  about  you.  My 
common  sense  tells  me  you  can't  by  the  wildest 
stretch  of  folly  be  in  earnest.  Something  else 
makes  me  foolish  enough  to  take  you  seriously. 
In  any  event  the  girl  is  safe.  But — "  she  paused 
impressively,  "if  by  some  diabolical  chance  I 
can  not  now  foresee  you  succeed  in  harming  that 
poor  child,  or  even  bring  one  care  over  her 
happy  life,  you  shall  have  cause  to  remember 
that  Hilda  Davenport  lives."  She  broke  into  a 
laugh,  though  her  eyes  looked  anxious.  "It 
sounds  like  a  Drury  Lane  melodrama,  doesn't  it  ? 
Well,  my  dear  boy,  let  me  be  the  only  one  to 
contribute  any  lines  or  incidents." 

He  saw  her  off  the  next  day,  provided  her 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

with  fruit  and  flowers,  and  bade  her  farewell 
with  genuine  regret.  Yet  she  was  filled  with 
a  nameless  dread  at  the  godless  light  that 
danced  in  his  beautiful  eyes,  and  a  prophetic 
fear  of  coming  trouble  haunted  her  throughout 
her  journey.  In  Paris  she  laughed  at  herself 
constantly  to  drive  away  a  mad,  foolish  impulse 
to  give  up  her  trip  as  she  had  planned  it.  In 
the  end  reason  prevailed  over  intuition,  and  in 
a  few  days'  time  she  was  entering  Russia. 


It  was  another  opal  day  on  Eilean  Rohan.  All 
the  afternoon  Clodah  had  been  perched  on  the 
Red  Rock,  looking  with  unseeing  eyes  out 
over  the  rolling  sea.  It  was  one  of  those  rare 
days  when  the  fog  lifted  and  showed  the  shores 
of  Scotland  in  the  violet  distance,  and  for  hours 
she  had  sat  there  waiting  for  the  sunset  the 
lovely  day  had  silently  promised  her.  The  eyes 
that  stared  so  widely  were  sad  ones;  the  mouth 
had  a  weary  droop.  Troubles  were  gather- 
ing black  along  her  tiny  horizon.  First  and 
last  and  all  the  time,  Donald  Ross.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  the  difference  between  his  love 
for  her  and  her  father's  love.  It  was  only  an 
intuition.  As  yet  Clodah  had  no  knowledge  of 
love  nor  of  its  demands.  But  she  was  disturbed 
by  what  she  did  not  understand.  She  shrank 
from  him,  and  she  mourned  much  thereat,  for  she 
did  not  think  it  right  to  be  other  than  at  peace 
with  all  the  world.  When  he  came  to  the  cottage 
73 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

in  the  evenings  as  he  had  done  from  the  time 
they  were  all  children  together  she  had  often  of 
late  crept  away,  and  in  so  doing  had  felt  that 
she  was  displeasing  her  father  and  her  brothers, 
and  hurting  Donald. 

The  Rohan  never  tried  to  control  her,  for 
never  in  all  her  gentle  life  had  Clodah  needed 
control,  but  her  sensitive  heart  felt  the  disturb- 
ing elements  in  the  atmosphere  about  her,  and 
she  blamed  herself  needlessly  as  the  cause.  To- 
day was  her  birthday.  She  was  seventeen,  and 
that  morning  her  father  had  said  something 
about  their  having  sometime  to  give  up  their 
little  house-mother  to  let  her  go  into  another 
home  of  her  own.  Clodah  had  flushed  and  had 
not  answered,  but  the  words  had  not  left  her, 
and  with  them  the  thought  of  Donald  was  inex- 
tricably mingled. 

Finally  she  thrust  all  the  heavy  thoughts  to 
one  side;  they  had  become  too  great  a  burden 
for  her  to  bear  any  longer.  She  deliberately 
pushed  actualities  away,  and  took  delightful  and 
immediate  refuge  in  her  favorite  dreams.  Some- 
how, the  beautiful  lady  of  the  summer  before 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

was  vivid  in  her  thoughts.  She  seemed  to  hear 
the  lovely  voice  again;  to  feel  once  more  that 
tender  arm  about  her.  How  lovely  she  was,  how 
lovely!  Clodah  closed  her  eyes  in  an  aching 
ecstasy  of  memory,  and  sat  for  a  long  time  with- 
out stirring  in  a  picturesque  huddle  against  the 
cold,  stern  cliff.  That  man,  The  Thayer,  he 
had  said  she  was  like  the  beautiful  lady;  her 
hair,  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  her  perfect  grace! 
He  had  told  her  so  many  strange  things  that 
afternoon,  about  how  he  went  to  work  to  paint 
lovely  things,  about  his  colors,  and  he  had  called 
that  sunset  opal.  Clodah  since  then  had  never 
called  it  anything  else.  And  he  had  told  her  the 
island  was  so  delightful  and  its  people  were  so 
hospitable  that  he  was  coming  back  some 
day  soon  to  paint  their  rocks  and  sea.  That  was 
already  long  ago,  and  he  had  not  come.  She 
drew  her  breath  with  a  sharp  little  sound.  She 
was  tired  of  just  wondering. 

She  opened  her  eyes  with  a  tragic  suddenness, 
and  with  a  rudimentary  despair  in  them  she 
stared  out  on  the  sea.  What  did  it  all  mean, 
this  unrest?  Once  she  had  been  so  happy.  On  the 


75 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

blue  of  the  sea  a  tossing  black  line  lay,  something 
that  she  followed  vacantly  for  many  a  minute 
before  curiosity  concerning  it  woke  within  her. 

She  leaned  forward.  It  was  not  the  day  for 
the  packet  boat  from  Skerra,  and  none  of  the 
men  were  fishing  to-day  on  the  south  side  of 
the  island.  Was  it  really  a  boat,  or  only  a  great, 
helpless  piece  of  driftwood  lying  at  the  mercy 
of  the  waves?  With  a  passive  curiosity  she 
watched  it  drive  nearer.  It  was  a  boat,  so 
much  was  sure.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came 
across  the  miles  of  water.  The  wind  was  blowing 
toward  the  island  and  the  tiny  craft  came  danc- 
ing over  the  waves.  When  it  was  close  enough 
for  her  to  distinguish  its  occupants  she  leaned 
forward  with  great  eagerness  and  then  sank  back 
filled  with  a  disappointment  whose  vagueness  did 
not  make  it  any  the  less  bitter.  Only  the  plaid  of 
the  ordinary  Scotsman  met  her  gaze.  She  paid 
no  more  attention  to  it  then,  and  let  it  pass 
beneath  her  and  enter  the  small  harbor. 

The  sun  was  sinking  low.     Already  its  ruddy 

edge  rested  upon  the  brink  of  the  ocean.     The 

sky  was  aflame  with  lavish  orange  hues.    In  the 

midst  of  the  flare  of  color  the  disk  of  the  sun 

76 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

hung,  blood  red.  Its  stain  passed  upward  as  it 
sank  down,  and  flooded  the  heavens  with  an  un- 
earthly color  that  mingled  with  the  orange  and 
yellows  and  struggled  for  the  mastery.  The  girl 
sat  there  in  a  light  strong  and  brilliant  enough 
to  make  her  seem  the  focus  for  the  lights  of  the 
western  sky.  Her  hair  was  the  color  of  the 
dying  sun,  made  glorious  with  the  ruddiness  that 
seemed  to  pour  up  from  beyond  the  ocean;  her 
hands  were  stained  in  the  glow  that  for  one 
breathless  moment  wrapped  the  earth  in  its  em- 
brace. Her  eyes  were  wide  open,  her  lips  were 
parted.  Beauty  always  hushed  her  into  an  awe 
that  ached.  She  forgot  all  things  but  the  sight 
of  the  dying  day. 

Suddenly  a  stone  rolled  down  from  the  rocks 
above  her;  another  followed  it,  and  Clodah 
stirred;  then  before  her  she  saw  Thayer  stand- 
ing; he  had  caught  both  her  hands  in  his,  and 
was  looking  past  her  eyes  into  her  innocent  heart. 
Whatever  he  saw  there  made  him  smile  with  a 
triumph  that  thrilled  her,  and  then  he  dropped 
her  hands  and  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her  on  the  lips. 

Slow  tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks  when 
77 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

he  let  her  go.  Her  breathing  was  pitiful,  and 
an  unreasoning  fright  held  her.  But  through 
the  tears  and  the  quick  breathing,  and  rising 
triumphant  above  the  terror,  was  something  that 
made  Thayer  catch  her  to  him  again  and  hold 
her  tenderly. 

"I  told  you  I  would  come  back  sometime," 
he  said  softly.  "Did  you  forget?" 

Her  head  moved  once  against  his  breast.  She 
was  shaking  violently.  He  soothed  her  quietly. 

"I  didn't  forget,"  he  murmured.  "I  couldn't 
come  before,  but  the  time  came  when  I  couldn't 
keep  away.  Dear,  you  haven't  said  a  word  to 
me  yet." 

He  put  his  hand  beneath  her  face  and  raised 
it  with  gentle  force.  It  was  very  white  and 
drawn. 

"I  hae  naught  to  say,"  she  whispered  with 
closed  eyes. 

Thayer  bent  and  laid  his  lips  on  them.  At 
his  touch  they  opened,  and  she  looked  at  him 
with  a  tenseness  about  her  mouth  that  made 
the  gaze  a  wild  one.  His  eyes  glowed  and  nar- 
rowed into  hers,  and  suddenly  a  rush  of  color 
that  was  almost  purple  swept  over  the  girl,  lit- 
78 


erally  drenching  with  a  faint  moisture  her  face 
and  throat.  She  moved  her  eyes  from  side  to 
side  as  if  seeking  for  rescue,  and  then  as  they 
at  last  came  back  to  him,  she  turned  suddenly 
and  hid  them  against  his  heart.  There  was  sur- 
render in  every  limb,  surrender  whose  fulness  she 
did  not  realize.  That  the  moment  was  his 
Thayer  knew,  and  he  seized  it. 

"I  want  you  to  go  away  with  me,"  he  mur- 
mured. "I've  come  for  you,  dear.  I  want  to 
take  you  away  with  me  just  aa  Soon  as  you 
can  go."  He  paused.  Clodah  did  not  raise  her 
head.  Thayer  felt  a  sensation  of  pleasure  at 
the  yielding  relaxation  of  her  figure.  After  all, 
the  girl  was  a  wonderfully  beautiful  creature, 
how  beautiful  he  had  hardly  realized.  She  had 
stirred  in  his  arms,  had  flung  one  rounded  arm 
about  his  neck. 

"I  didna  know  it  before,"  she  whispered  with 
a  catch  in  her  voice  like  that  of  a  child  who  has 
sobbed  itself  to  rest.  "I  didna  know  it  before, 
an'  I  dinna  know  all  what  it  means  now ;  but,  ah, 
I  canna  stay  here  alone  an'  live !" 

Thayer's  arms  tightened  about  her.  "When 
can  you  go  with  me?" 

79 


WHAT    MANNER   OF    MAN 

She  glanced  at  him  in  doubt.  "When — do 
you  want  me — now?" 

"I  want  you  now,"  he  answered  in  a  sudden 
flame  of  desire.  But  Clodah  was  thinking  with 
wide  eyes  of  this  new  demand,  and  remained 
tranquil  before  his  passionate  gaze.  In  all  his 
wanderings,  and  they  had  been  many,  Thayer 
had  never  seen  such  an  absolute  rest  of  the  senses 
in  a  girl  of  her  age  and  growth.  She  was  ab- 
solutely innocent;  she  was  incapable  of  giving 
a  name  to  the  feeling  that  he  woke  within  her, 
but  from  her  low-breathed  confession  he  well 
knew  that  the  dreams  of  the  past  year,  devoid 
as  they  were  of  all  love  in  the  earthy  sense,  had 
reared  for  him  a  shrine  in  her  heart  before  which 
had  been  poured  out  the  purest  worship  of  him 
his  life  had  known. 

Thayer  was  a  man  in  whom  the  passions  had 
had  so  much  indulgence  that  it  took  more  than 
a  passing  whim  to  rouse  them  to  keenness,  but 
before  this  girl  he  suddenly  felt  the  fire  and 
longing  of  his  early  youth.  He  smiled  slightly 
as  he  laid  his  cheek  against  her  ruddy  hair.  After 
all,  his  passion  for  art  and  his  love  passion 
might  perhaps  prove  one  and  the  same  thing. 
80 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

He  must  have  this  girl  at  any  cost,  that  he  had 
decided ;  but  the  cost  to  himself  might  not  after 
all  be  so  great.  She  was  beautiful,  and  she 
loved  beauty ;  she  was  quick  of  perception ;  three 
qualities  of  the  metal  of  wifehood  that  render 
it  more  malleable  in  the  matrimonial  furnace. 
Even  if  it  must  mean  marriage,  and  all  along 
he  had  been  inwardly  certain  that  it  would  mean 
that  before  he  could  get  her  away,  it  might 
turn  out  for  him  the  best  of  fortune.  Then  no 
more  searches  for  nymphs,  no  more  models  with 
beautiful  faces  and  heavy  hips;  no  more  girls 
whose  arms  were  perfect  and  whose  ankles  made 
him  swear  beneath  his  breath  at  their  thickness. 
He  had  seen  what  Clodah's  face  could  express 
with  only  her  limited  range  of  feeling  and  emo- 
tion. What  could  it  not  develop  into  under  his 
tutelage  and  molding? 

All  this  time  he  had  been  holding  her  in  the 
same  close  embrace.  Now  he  spoke  quickly, 
triumphantly. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "take  me  to  your  father." 
She  shrank  back  a  little.     A  sudden  change 
swept  over  her  face.    All  of  the  old  worry  and 
trouble  came  into  her  eyes. 
81 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

"Feyther — he — "  She  stopped  short  and 
looked  at  Thayer  in  half  terror.  For  some  rea- 
son he  was  instantly  reminded  of  Mrs.  Daven- 
port's not  too  subtile  hint  of  a  lover. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  he  asked  with  more  than 
an  idle  curiosity  in  his  voice. 

Clodah  hesitated.  "I  canna  tell  you,"  she  said 
at  length.  "Feyther — "  She  stopped  again. 

Thayer  laughed.  "Come,"  he  repeated,  and 
with  his  arm  flung  carelessly  about  her  he  led 
her  down  the  cliff  and  up  the  long  slanting  path 
to  the  distant  cottage  in  whose  door  as  they  drew 
nearer  they  saw  The  Rohan  standing. 

Clodah  would  have  broken  away,  but  Thayer 
held  her  close,  and  under  the  growing  fire  in 
The  Rohan's  eye  they  came  up  the  path  to- 
gether. When  they  were  within  thirty  feet  of 
the  cottage  The  Rohan  rose  and  came  down  to 
meet  them.  His  face  kindled  to  a  white  anger 
with  the  flash  of  recognition  that  woke  within 
his  eyes  when  he  was  but  a  few  feet  distant  from 
Thayer.  He  strode  swiftly  over  the  intervening 
space  and  laid  his  hand  with  a  rude  heaviness 
on  Clodah's  shoulder.  Thayer's  arm  was  still 
about  her. 

82 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

"I  recall  ye.  Gi'  her  me !"  They  faced  each 
other  in  the  gloomy  dusk,  the  slender  girl  be- 
tween them.  Thayer  did  not  stir. 

"Unloose  her,  I  say!  Man,  gi*  me  my 
daughter !"  There  was  a  great  cry  in  his  heavy 
voice.  With  a  swift,  harsh  movement  he 
wrenched  Clodah  free.  Thayer  staggered  back, 
momentarily  overcome  by  the  fierce  assault. 
Then  he  held  out  his  empty  arms. 

"Clodah!"  he  said,  his  voice  no  more  than  a, 
whisper.  She  was  standing  in  her  father's  grip. 
How  cruel  it  was  she  did  not  know  until  the  next 
morning,  when  her  white  arm  showed  blue  and 
purple. 

"Clodah!"  Thayer  cried  again,  a  note  of 
despair  in  his  voice. 

"Feyther!"  she  whispered  with  pleading  un- 
utterable. The  Rohan  stood  mute.  While  the 
soul  is  in  travail  there  is  no  cry. 

"Feyther!"  she  cried  again.  The  silence  of 
the  island  night  was  about  them.  Below  them 
murmured  the  sobbing  sea  in  its  unending  woe. 
Suddenly  she  threw  up  her  arms.  Thayer  had 
turned  as  if  to  go  down  to  the  wooden  pier. 

"Feyther!"  she  cried  again,  and  then  with  a 
83 


WHAT   MANNER    OF    MAN 

swift  little  rush  she  threw  off  his  hand  and  run- 
ning to  Thayer  flung  herself  into  his  arms.  And 
again  over  her  bent  head  the  two  men  looked  at 
each  other.  But  this  time  there  was  no  measur- 
ing of  power.  The  older  man  stood  with  a  de- 
spairing relaxation  in  all  the  length  of  his 
mighty  frame.  The  younger  man  stood  erect 
and  victorious,  for  in  his  arms  by  her  own  free 
choice  he  held  the  island's  treasure. 

"Come  in  my  house,"  The  Rohan  said  at 
length,  after  a  moment  full  of  bitter  renuncia- 
tion. "Come  in  my  house,  an'  tell  me  there  what 
manner  o'  man  ye  are.  Clodah,  'tis  nae  for  ye 
to  hear,  till  I  learn  the  man  that  ye  hae  cast  off 
feyther  for,  what  he  be.  But  ye  can  trust 
feyther,  lass?" 

Clodah  was  sobbing  bitterly.  One  arm  was 
still  flung  about  Thayer's  neck,  but  the  other 
she  reached  out  to  her  father. 

"I  didna  know,"  she  sobbed  pitifully.  "I 
didna  know  till  he  came  to-day.  I  hae  na  de- 
ceived thee,  feyther.  I  didna  know  mysel'." 

The  Rohan's  eyes  were  wet.  "Go  to  yir  room, 
lass,"  he  said  softly. 

Until  she  disappeared  within  the  cottage  door 
84 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

the  two  men  stood  looking  after  her.  Then  The 
Rohan  led  the  way  sternly  to  his  hall,  the  hall 
where  the  primitive  justice  of  the  island  was 
meted  out.  In  the  center  of  the  room  he  drew 
himself  up  with  a  dignity  that  even  at  that  mo- 
ment Thayer  confessed  to  himself  he  had  never 
seen  surpassed.  He  fastened  on  the  artist  a 
gaze  that  seemed  striving  to  pierce  the  veneer  of 
raiment  and  flesh  to  the  inner  spirit  that  they 
clothed. 

"Now,  man,"  he  said  briefly,  "I  remember  ye, 
though  I  know  ye  not.  The  name  ye  bear  dinna 
matter.  But  in  God's  name,  what  manner  o' 
man  be  ye?" 


85 


For  one  calculating  moment  the  two  men  faced 
each  other  in  the  dusky  room ;  The  Rohan  mas- 
sive and  rugged  and  directly  simple,  Thayer 
polished  and  alert  and  many  stranded.  Human- 
ly speaking,  the  victory  lay  already  with  the 
younger  man.  And  yet  in  the  preparatory 
pause  that  followed  The  Rohan's  challenge, 
Thayer,  with  his  peculiar  power  of  surveying 
from  a  throbless  standpoint  all  that  came  to  him 
in  life  of  joy  or  sorrow,  or  even  threatening 
tragedy,  felt  a  first  cynical  doubt  thrill  him,  a 
doubt  of  ultimate  success.  In  all  his  mad  jour- 
ney to  the  island  it  had  been  Clodah,  Clodah, 
Clodah  that  had  filled  his  brain.  It  was  Clodah's 
consent  he  had  to  gain;  that  was  the  task  that 
lay  before  him.  His  arrogant  self-confidence  in 
that  success  had  been  justified.  Yet  in  this  mo- 
ment of  amazed,  resentful  doubt  he  threw  back 
his  shoulders  with  a  sudden  tenseness  of  his  whole 
body.  The  primal  instincts,  self-defense,  pro- 
86 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

tection  of  his  own,  were  tightening  every  nerve, 
keying  them  up  to  a  recklessly  high  pitch.  For 
the  first  time,  mentally  as  well  as  physically,  he 
was  facing  The  Rohan  man  to  man.  He  had 
wooed  the  peasant  girl.  He  had  yet  to  win  the 
daughter,  to  wring  from  the  father  some  sort 
of  acquiescence.  Spirit  had  challenged  spirit, 
and  to  the  simple  inner  royalty  of  The  Rohan 
Thayer's  swift  self -guard  was  an  involuntary 
homage.  Then  he  caught  up  the  glove  thrown 
down. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  gently,  "that  I  am  a  man  of 
note  in  my  own  country,  a  man  of  some  wealth, 
a  little  fame,  a  man  who  can  give  your  daughter 
a  life  of  such  luxury  as  she  has  never  known, — 
all  this  will  count  as  nothing  in  the  face  of  your 
demand.  Before  it  I  am  speechless.  How  may 
a  man  know  himself,  or  knowing,  how  may 
he  tell  it  out  to  others?  If  you  do  not  know 
me,  what  do  I  know  of  her?  Yet  I  am  filled 
with  a  great  longing  for  her.  I  have  come  this 
journey  after  a  weary  year  that  should  have 
served  to  drive  her  from  my  mind.  Instead,  it 
has  driven  me  here  in  spite  of  myself.  Sir,  if 
you  will  not  listen  kindly  to  my  pleading  for 
87. 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

myself,  let  me  entreat  you  for  your  daughter's 
joy.  I  found  her  down  yonder  dreaming  like 
a  child.  All  this  long  year  of  separation  she 
has  held  me  in  memory,  and  without  her 
knowledge  she  was  ready  for  me  with  a  love  that 
fills  me  with  rapture  and  humility.  I  ask  your 
daughter  of  you.  I  ask  to  bear  her  away  with 
me  from  her  home  and  her  people  to  my  own 
land.  I  shall  deal  with  her  tenderly.  I  do  not 
plead  for  my  own  happiness  now.  It  is  hers 
I  am  seeking  at  your  hands." 

The  Rohan  had  never  moved  his  brooding  eyes 
from  Thayer's  face.  "Ye  are  takin'  more  on 
yirsel'  than  I  asked  o'  ye,"  he  said  with  a  harsh- 
ness that  made  the  blunt  speech  blunter.  "Ye 
are  speakin'  to  the  lass's  feyther.  He  has  cared 
for  her  happiness  a'  her  life.  He  can  be  trusted 
wi'  it  yet  a  while.  'Tis  nae  in  keepin'  wi'  her 
dignity  that  ye  plead  so  soon  for  her  joy  wi'  ye." 

The  two  men  stood  before  each  other  poised 
as  for  a  brute  contest  of  physical  power.  Their 
eyes  shot  defiance  and  wrath  through  the  gather- 
ing gloom.  Yet  it  was  desperate  strength 
matched  against  desperate  cunning.  Thayer's 
white  face  turned  a  little  whiter  at  this  direct 
88 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

rending  of  his  sophistry.  His  jaw  settled  into 
a  firmer  line.  He  saw  that  The  Rohan  had  yet 
another  word  to  say  and  he  waited. 

"Ye  mean  me  to  infer  ye  hae  nae  one  here 
to  speak  for  ye  an'  yir  modesty  willna  let  ye 
tell  it  out  honest  what  ye  be.  Ye  be  a  friend  o' 
the  Davenports?"  It  was  demand,  question, 
yearning  assertion,  all  in  one. 

Thayer  hesitated.  Why  not?  Yet  never  in 
all  his  life  had  he  held  up  a  woman's  body  before 
his  own  to  ward  off  a  death  blow. 

"I  don't  know  Mr.  Davenport,"  he  said  slowly. 
"That  I  was  with  Mrs.  Davenport's  party  last 
summer  was  purely  an  accident." 

The  Rohan  clenched  his  hands.  He  stepped 
forward  and  covered  in  one  stride  the  narrow 
space  between  him  and  Thayer. 

"Man,"  he  said,  a  white  heat  of  anger  thrill- 
ing along  his  voice,  "hae  ye  nae  sense  o'  honor  in 
yir  world,  nae  sense  o'  what's  befittin'  the  honor 
o'  a  little  maid?  Ye  hae  crept  frae  off  the  di- 
vidin'  sea  on  to  my  land.  Ye  slunk  like  a  thief 
along  my  shore.  Ye  came  on  my  lass  sittin'  wi' 
her  innocent  dreams  an'  ye  stole  my  lamb  awa'. 
She  dinna  know  hersel',  she  says.  Nae,  she  dinna 
89 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

know  hersel'.  There  be  a  man  on  this  island  that 
loves  her  true,  that  dares  to  say  boldly  he  loves 
her.  'Tis  a  word  ye  haena  uttered  to  me  yet. 
Truly,  if  it  be  a  man  loves  a  maid  he  may  tell  her 
feyther  it  for  the  comfort  it  may  be.  I  be  dis- 
tressed for  my  lass,  yes,  I  be  distressed;  yet  she 
has  the  blood  o'  her  feythers  in  her,  an*  it  is 
strong  red  blood.  But  as  for  ye,  go  down  to 
yir  boat  an'  sail  awa'  an'  leave  my  land  to  the 
peace  that  held  it  before  ye  blighted  it  wi'  yir 
courtly  presence.  Sail  awa'  an'  leave  my  lass 
to  me  an'  him  that  loves  her  an'  isna  afraid  to 
tell  it  out  to  the  man  that  loves  her  most  o* 
all.  She  be  simple  an'  untaught  o'  the  world. 
Ye  know  naethin'  else.  Ye  canna  mate  wi'  each 
ither  an'  hae  joy  one  in  the  ither.  Not  Heaven 
itsel'  can  work  that  miracle.  Therefore  I  bid 
ye  go.  I  know  weel  ye  hae  left  misery  in  yir 
wake,  but  it's  naethin'  to  the  torment  that  would 
follow  did  I  let  ye  stay.  Ye  are  ower  confident 
too  when  ye  claim  the  lass's  life  be  bound  up  in 
yir  own.  Ye  hae  brought  a  fever  wi'  ye  an'  she 
is  fast  held  now  in  the  delirium  o'  it,  but  she  will 
get  ower  it,  O  yes,  she  will  recover.  She  has 
the  blood  in  her  veins  that  dinna  let  a  bramble 
90 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

poison  it,  though  the  scratch  may  smart  sore. 
She  will  hae  her  feyther's  love  for  a  lotion,  an' 
it  has  never  yet  failed  to  heal." 

The  Rohan's  voice  grew  more  and  more  stern 
as  he  went  on.  Thayer  stood  in  silence,  his  face 
settling  into  hard,  rigid  lines.  He  let  a  little 
cold,  scintillating  smile  that  had  lurked  in  his 
eyes  come  out  and  play,  shadowlike,  about  his 
mouth. 

"I  think  you  do  not  realize,,  nor  does  she, 
how  entirely  she  is  mine,"  he  murmured  in  a 
cold,  sweet  voice  that  cut  like  a  surgeon's  lancet. 
"And  suppose  I  leave  and  allow  her  to  stay  be- 
hind? She  is  a  child,  yes,  and  she  has  scratched 
herself.  And  up  to  now  her  blood  has  been  fresh 
and  cool  and  healing.  What  if  the  fever  in  it 
nurses  the  bramble  poison  and  carries  it  through 
her  from  head  to  foot?  What  if  the  poison 
is  already  coursing  its  fatal  way  through  her? 
And  if  I  choose  not  to  let  her  stay  behind,  but 
bid  her  come,  do  you  dare  think  the  choice  is 
longer  yours  or  hers  ?  Down  yonder — when  she 
threw  herself  here — " 

Thayer  flung  out  his  arms.  The  Rohan  start- 
ed. A  shiver  ran  over  him.  His  face  was  drawn 
91 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

with  the  agony  that  had  shot  through  him  when 
the  girl  had  thrown  him  off.  Thayer  stood  be- 
fore him  in  a  cold,  almost  indifferent  triumph. 
He  stared  calmly  at  The  Rohan  in  his  convulsive 
waverings.  And  as  he  looked  another  doubt, 
born  of  his  own  taunting  words,  stabbed  him  with 
a  swift  pain.  It  was  one  thing  to  bear  the  girl 
away  in  the  face  of  a  great  wrath  that  denied. 
It  was  another  thing  to  carry  her  off,  leaving 
behind  this  bent  and  tortured  figure,  broken 
on  the  wheel  of  an  outraged  fatherhood.  There 
drifted  across  him  like  a  haunting  fragrance  a 
memory  of  the  girl's  exquisite  surrender.  All 
the  unutterable  beauty  of  it  appealed  to  him 
afresh.  It  wove  a  spell  about  him  that  caught 
his  heart  and  stopped  its  beating.  Something 
broke  within  him,  the  settled  coldness  of  a  selfish- 
ness sublime  in  its  absolute  disregard  of  others. 
It  warmed  into  pulsating  life  as  it  rushed 
through  him,  finding  an  outlet  at  last  in  short, 
feverish  speech. 

"Let  me  have  her,"  he  cried.  "I  have  won  her. 
I  can  not  be  denied.  Fairly  or  foully  I  have 
won  her.  She  is  mine.  She  loves  me.  Loves  me 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

with  a  love — I  say  it  in  all  humility — she  will 
never  give  to  another  man.  I  can  not  go  away 
without  her.  See,  it  is  the  fate  of  her  life.  She 
did  not  know  she  loved  me  till  I  came.  Suppose 
I  had  not  come;  suppose  I  had  followed  good 
advice  and  stayed  away,  she  might  have  lived 
and  died  here  in  her  island  home.  This  lover — 
she  might  have  wedded  him  and  borne  him  chil- 
dren and  reared  them  in  the  pure  ways  she  has 
trod  all  her  life.  But  that  is  changed  forever 
now.  If  she  does  not  marry  me  she  will  never 
marry  him.  It  was  meant  to  be  through  all  the 
ages.  Why  should  I  have  been  led  here  a  year 
ago?  Why  should  this  year  have  been  one  of 
sorrow  and  despair  and  vain  endeavor?  Why 
should  life  have  baffled  me  at  every  turn  till  I 
came  at  last  and  found  her  mine,  mine,  mine?" 

He  seized  The  Rohan  by  the  arm.  The  older 
man  looked  at  him  with  eyes  blinded  by  despair. 
He  saw  Thayer's  face  drawn  now  and  haggard ; 
he  perceived  a  sincerity  in  his  eyes ;  he  heard  the 
ring  of  it  in  his  voice,  felt  the  thrill  of  it  in  the 
close  personal  contact.  He  looked  and  looked 
into  the  white,  tense  face  before  him.  It  was  as 


93 


if  he  could  never  rest  until  he  had  probed  to 
the  soul  of  the  man  who  faced  him.  When  he 
spoke  despair  wavered  in  his  tones. 

"I  dinna  know  ye  yet,  man,  who  or  what 
ye  be.  I  dinna  know  yet  what  the  feelin'  be  ye 
bear  my  bairn  nor  how  ye  came  to  feel  it.  I 
am  full  o'  doubt.  Yet,  somethin'  in  yir  words 
rings  true.  Ye  yearn  after  her,  ye  say.  May- 
hap ye  mean  love.  Man,  be  honest  wi'  yirsel'  an' 
me  this  hour.  A*  that  ye  say  o'  the  lass  an' 
her  love  for  ye  I  know  is  the  truth,  howe'er  much 
I  resent  ye  sayin'  it.  But  I  know  this,  if  ye 
dinna  know  it,  that  in  spite  o'  yir  pleadin'  an' 
her  grief  I  be  strong  enough  to  say  ye  both  nay 
if  it  be  for  her  good.  Better  that  she  die  o' 
sorrow  wi'out  ye  on  her  island  home  than  that 
she  live  in  sorrow  wi'  ye  in  that  grand  home  o' 
yir  own.  I  be  strong  enough  to  say  nay,  an'  in 
spite  o'  yir  arrogance,  man,  I  dinna  feel  yet  that 
yir  power  could  take  her  awa'  wi'out  her  feyther 
said  for  her  to  go.  But  nae  man  has  the  right 
to  take  the  power  o'  God  into  his  own  weak  hands 
an'  say  for  ithers  that  here  be  joy  an'  that  way 
sorrow.  An'  so  I  hesitate.  But  ye  know  the 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

purposes  o'  yir  heart,  what  ye  mean  for  my 
bairn.  O,  be  honest  this  hour  wi'  her  an'  me  an' 
yirsel'." 

Thayer  felt  a  faint  sickness  steal  over  him 
as  The  Rohan  spoke,  a  physical  sickness  induced 
by  a  nerve  strain  too  great  for  endurance.  For 
one  blazing  second  he  saw  straight  down  the 
days  to  come.  The  purposes  of  his  heart !  Then 
he  shut  his  eyes  against  the  revelation,  against 
the  sudden  mad  impulse  to  throw  up  the  doing 
of  the  deed.  What  would  it  not  mean  for  him  if 
he  surrendered  now  ?  A  wild  despair  shook  him, 
a  despair  so  blind  and  frantic  that  it  swayed 
him  helplessly.  What  if  he  lost  her  now !  His 
brain  was  one  great  doubt.  His  vaunting  self- 
pride  had  died,  shriveled  into  a  withered  heap 
of  nothingness.  The  insolent  pride  of  his  bear- 
ing had  dropped  away  from  him  as  a  rotted 
garment.  For  the  moment  he  trod  Chaos;  he 
walked  in  Emptiness.  It  was  with  the  shadow 
of  their  wastes  and  solitudes  graying  his  face 
that  he  turned  at  last  to  The  Rohan. 

"Give  her  to  me,"  he  pleaded  thickly.  "I  shall 
be  tender  with  her.  No  man  could  be  other  than 


95 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

tender  with  her.  She  shall  be  my  treasure  as 
she  has  been  yours.  Let  me  take  her,  let  me  take 
her!" 

When  The  Rohan  raised  his  head  it  was  the 
face  of  an  old  man  that  Thayer  looked  upon. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "the  lass  hersel' 
has  decided  it.  Down  yon'er  when  she  cast  me 
off — her  feyther  off — it  couldna  be  a  bad  thing 
she  loved  to  cast  her  feyther  off  for — I  said 
I  was  strong  to  say  ye  nay.  The  strength 
has  gone  frae  me.  I  be  bowed  an'  bent.  I  would 
ye  were  a  friend  o'  Davenport's.  He  is  a  man 
I  trust.  I  canna  trust  ye  yet.  I  be  honest 
wi'  ye.  I  canna  trust  ye  yet.  But  I  halt  in 
sendin'  ye  awa'.  I  dare  nae  do  it.  For  'twould 
be  the  death  o'  her,  the  death!  Ye  be  a  great 
man,  ye  say,  an'  ye  can  gi'  my  bairn  gold  an' 
plenty.  Ah,  yes,  but  there  be  better  than  gold, 
an'  that  be  love.  She  wouldna  miss  the  wealth 
wi'out  ye,  for  she  has  never  had  it.  But  wi'  all  yir 
wealth  an'  greatness  if  she  go  awa'  wi'  ye  an' 
ye  fail  to  gi'  her  the  greatest  thing  o'  life,  I 
doubt  nae  but  she'll  turn  in  longin'  to  her 
feyther  an'  his  love  that  never  failed." 


96 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

Thayer  went  abruptly  over  to  the  window  that 
overlooked  the  harbor  where  his  boat  lay  rocking 
with  the  sea.  His  temples  were  throbbing  pain- 
fully. His  throat  was  dry  and  contracted.  He 
thought  with  a  strange,  aching  loneliness  of  the 
innocent  girl,  sent  away  to  her  room  while  two 
men  held  her  life  in  their  hands  and  probed 
with  blunt,  unpractised  fingers  into  its  quiv- 
ering embryonic  possibilities.  He  could  see 
her  lying  on  her  bed  shaken  with  the  al- 
most tearless  sobs  that  had  torn  through 
her  down  there  in  the  path  before  her 
father's  door.  Suddenly  a  passionate  joy  shot 
its  stinging  way  through  him.  He  had  not 
heard  The  Rohan  leave  the  room.  He  had  not 
heard  the  door  softly  unclose  behind  him.  But 
the  new  thrill  of  delight  made  him  turn.  There 
on  his  arm  lay  a  small,  white  hand.  By  him, 
only  as  high  as  his  shoulder,  stood  The  Rohan's 
daughter,  her  face  so  white  that  she  looked  like 
a  spirit  in  the  gloom  of  her  father's  judgment 
hall.  When  she  spoke  her  voice  was  low  and 
wonderfully  controlled.  Thayer  only  stared  at 
her  dumbly.  For  the  moment  the  two  seemed  to 


97 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

have  changed  places.  It  was  Thayer  who  was 
unstrung.  It  was  the  slender  girl  who  held  him 
and  herself  in  wonderful  restraint. 

"My  feyther  bade  me  come  in  here,"  she  said 
clearly.  Through  the  dusk  her  eyes  shone  like 
stars  upon  him. 

Thayer  uttered  a  low,  nerveless  cry.  The  old 
faintness  came  back  on  him.  His  poise  was  gone. 
The  victory  was  his,  but  it  stung  like  humilia- 
tion. This  girl  before  him — his!  He  had  won, 
but  at  what  cost,  by  what  dastard  deed  ?  The  old 
throbless  standpoint  had  vanished.  He  seemed 
to  himself  one  great  aching  nerve,  one  tearing 
throe  of  pain.  The  purposes  of  his  heart !  In 
the  moment  of  his  supreme  triumph  Thayer 
tasted  the  sodden  ashes  of  a  mighty  self-defeat. 


Two  'days  later,  in  the  glow  of  another  gor- 
geous sun-setting,  a  boat  set  off  from  Eilean 
Rohan,  rowed  by  six  lusty  islanders.  In  the  cen- 
ter of  the  boat  Clodah  sat  within  the  arms  of 
her  husband.  On  the  shore  were  gathered  the 
men  and  women  and  children  of  Rohan,  those 
who  had  watched  over  the  delight  of  The 
Rohan's  heart  with  as  tender  a  love  as  they  felt 
for  their  own.  Only  Donald  Ross  was  absent. 
On  the  evening  of  Thayer's  arrival  he  had  come 
to  The  Rohan's  home,  had  seen  the  artist,  and 
then  with  an  insistence  against  which  his  chief 
could  not  prevail,  had  demanded  to  see  Clodah. 
What  had  passed  between  them  she  did  not  tell 
in  detail,  and  what  she  told  was  told  only  to 
her  father  in  incoherent  murmurs,  but  that  night 
Ross  left  the  island  and  had  not  yet  returned. 

In  the  late  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after 
Thayer's  arrival  his  marriage  with  Clodah  had 
been  celebrated  by  the  aged  minister  of  the 
99 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

island,  and  this  night  they  were  leaving.  How 
the  matter  had  been  accomplished  with  such 
swiftness  no  one  who  witnessed  the  simple  cere- 
mony knew,  least  of  all  the  participants  in  it. 
But  accomplished  it  had  been. 

Just  before  Clodah  stepped  into  the  boat, 
while  some  trifling  trouble  with  the  ropes  was 
being  righted,  her  father  drew  her  away  from 
the  rest  and  looked  with  dumb  questioning  into 
her  eyes. 

"My  heart  is  sore  wi'in  me,  lass,"  he  said. 
"It  has  been  a'  hasty  and  nae  in  keeping  wi'  the 
dignity  of  a  maid.  But  since  the  ither  night  I 
haena  known  ye  for  my  daughter.  Some 
strange  change,  swift  as  the  changin'  o'  the  sea, 
has  come  o'er  ye,  and  weel  I  know  it  is  the  mighty 
power  o'  love.  I  couldna  keep  ye  wi'  me  longer. 
If  I  kept  yir  body  I  should  be  lonelier  than  I 
shall  be  now,  for  yir  spirit  would  hae  been  be- 
yond yon'er  sky.  An*  so  I  let  ye  go.  Yir  woman- 
hood has  come  wi'  a  rush,  lass.  I  know  nae  the 
man  ye  hae  taken.  That  he  longs  after  ye  I 
see  weel,  and  if  he  loved  ye  nae  why  should  he 
come  back  this  weary  way  for  a  simple  lass 
like  ye?  An'  so  I  let  ye  go.  Wi'  a  stranger  I 
100 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

let  ye  go.  But  remember  weel,"  his  voice  deep- 
ened with  its  effort  at  control,  "remember  weel 
the  law  o'  yir  island,  that  if  a  maid  shall  wed  a 
man,  and  go  from  her  land,  and  if  he  die  or 
desert  her,  she  shall  come  back  and  spend  her 
days  wi'  her  people.  An',  lass  o'  mine,  were  it 
nae  that  'twould  mean  yir  death  o'  happiness, 
I  could  pray  that  ye  be  sent  back !" 

His  voice  rang  out  hoarsely,  all  the  agony  of 
his  great  doubt  echoing  through  it.  But  Clodah 
lifted  her  face  with  a  light  shining  on  it  that 
comforted  her  father  in  many  a  weary  memory. 

"I  shall  come  back,  feyther,"  she  said  steadily, 
"if — there  be  need.  But  if  the  need  come  it 
will  bring  a  weary  day  for  thee  and  me.  For 
he  is  the  joy  o'  my  heart,  an'  though  I  know 
not,"  her  voice  fell,  "though  I  know  not  what 
awaits  me,  an'  though  the  whole  way  be  in 
shadow,  I  must  go  with  him,  an'  O  my  feyther, 
my  feyther,  I  bless  thee  and  thank  thee  for  let- 
ting me  go." 

And   so   with  her   father's   blessing   echoing 

in  her  ears  and  the  cries  of  her  people  ringing 

about  her,  with  her  husband's  arm  holding  her 

close,  and  the  crimson  shadows  of  the  western 

101 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

sun  shining  on  her  face  that  already  shone  from 
the  light  of  joy  within,  Clodah  Rohan  passed 
from  her  island  and  people  to  another  shore  and 
race  of  which  she  had  no  faintest  knowledge, 
with  her  only  guide  a  man  whom  she  had  not 
yet  called  by  his  given  name,  a  man  of  whom 
the  only  woman  who  knew  him  as  he  was  had  said 
his  temperament  was  his  curse.  And  yet  Kirk 
Thayer,  as  his  keen  eye  flashed  along  the  stretch 
of  the  island's  coast  line  and  took  in  the  dramatic 
beauty  of  the  primitive  farewell,  vowed  to  him- 
self that  if  the  girl  beside  him  would  let  herself 
be  happy  she  should  be  made  so.  In  that  mo- 
ment he  almost  loved  her. 


102 


Thayer  and  his  wife  started  directly  for  Lon- 
don, but  they  stopped  midway  for  a  day  in  order 
that  Clodah's  simple  wardrobe  might  be  supple- 
mented to  a  degree  that  better  became  the  wife 
of  a  great  celebrity.  With  all  the  delicacy  of 
suggestion  at  his  command  Thayer  found  it  im- 
possible to  prevent  the  look  of  hurt  pride  that 
swept  over  Clodah's  face  at  the  first  mention  of 
new  clothes.  It  was  followed  immediately  by  a 
submission  that  almost  irritated  him.  As  they 
were  about  to  enter  a  shop  she  touched  his  hand 
timidly. 

"I  scarce  know  what  is  fittin'  for  me  now,"  she 
murmured.  "Dinna  ask  me  anything.  Buy 
what  you  want  me  to  wear  an'  I  will  put  it  on." 

Thayer  laughed  down  into  her  eyes,  and  under 
his  look  the  shadow  fled  from  her  face. 

"You  couldn't  tell  me  to  do  anything  that 
would  please  me  more,"  he  said.  "Sometimes  I 
think  I've  a  good  deal  of  the  feminine  in  me,  for 
103 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

I  like  to  dress  people  as  little  girls  dress  their 
dolls,  and  I  have  in  my  mind's  eye  exactly  what 
you  need,  if  only  we  can  find  it  here.  In  a  few 
weeks  we'll  run  over  to  Paris,  and  bring  trunks 
full  of  things  back  with  us.  This  is  just  to  tide 
over." 

While  he  talked  Clodah  listened  in  a  half  con- 
scious dream.  That  she  was  no  longer  Clodah 
Rohan,  that  she  was  the  wife  of  this  man  who 
to  her  represented  all  that  was  good  and  true 
and  noble  she  could  not  believe,  had  not  yet 
begun  to  grasp.  She  was  afraid  and  she  adored 
in  one  and  the  same  breath.  She  stood  by 
while  he  had  stuffs  brought  out;  dismissed 
with  contempt  materials  and  garments  that  to 
her  unaccustomed  eyes  were  rich  enough  for  the 
garb  of  kings;  and  finally  out  of  the  whole 
stock  which  the  shop-mistress  placed  at  his 
disposal  he  deigned  to  take  two  or  three  summer 
gowns,  a  tailor  suit,  a  deal  of  lingerie,  and  one 
garment  which  he  had  seized  on  from  the  first 
moment  he  saw  it  as  the  only  thing  in  the  shop 
that  nearly  approached  his  idea  of  what  he 
wanted.  It  was  a  dull  rose  velvet,  whose  color- 
ing had  been  subjected  to  acid  fumes  that  gave 
104 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

it  strange  and  indefinable  tones.  A  faint  heral- 
dic design  was  sprayed  over  it,  but  so  dimly  that 
the  design  seemed  but  a  part  of  the  light  and 
shade.  Thayer  turned  to  Clodah  and  whispered 
to  her. 

"The  first  night  we  are  in  London — and  that's 
to-morrow  night — you  are  going  to  put  on  this 
gown,  and  pile  your  hair  up  high.  O,  I'll  show 
you  how.  Didn't  you  know  you  had  married  a 
hair-dresser,  one  who  might  have  made  his  for- 
tune were  the  court  happy  enough  to  have  en- 
gaged his  services  ?  Ah,  well,  he  has  his  princess 
now,  his  princess  of  the  ruddy  locks,  and  he  is 
going  to  get  his  fill  of  torturing  fair  heads !" 

Clodah  laughed  in  happy  shyness.  "I  dinna 
think  I  shall  know  any  more  about  putting  on 
the  dress  than  putting  up  the  hair.  'Tis  too 
lovely  for  just  me." 

Her  eyes  shone  as  she  looked  at  the  dull 
shimmer  of  the  velvet,  and  she  smoothed  it  softly, 
impulsively.  Just  then  the  shop-mistress  re- 
turned with  assistants  who  were  to  help  her  in 
the  alterations  that  Thayer  had  insisted  must 
be  made  with  all  despatch,  so  he  left  her  in  their 
care  for  a  short  time  while  the  fitting  of  the 
105 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

gowns  was  being  made,  and  in  the  interim 
he  strolled  about  the  town.  He  struck  away 
from  the  business  streets,  and  found  a  quiet 
thoroughfare  leading  out  to  a  little  park.  He 
stopped  when  he  reached  it,  and  stood  with  his 
arms  resting  on  the  railing  that  cut  it  off  from 
the  main  road.  Never  had  he  felt  so  full  of  the 
inspiration  to  hard  work.  Never  had  his  brain 
been  more  alert,  more  quick  to  receive  impres- 
sions, more  open  to  suggestion.  His  fingers  quiv- 
ered with  the  nervous  desire  of  genius.  His 
whole  body  felt  the  electric  glow  of  a  great 
thought  and  a  great  ability. 

"She  is  perfect,"  he  thought.  "She  has  pure 
beauty  of  face  and  form,  and  her  soul  is  full  of 
the  fire  that  gives  feeling  and  emotion.  She 
was  too  good  for  that  desert  spot.  And  I 
shall  make  her  happy.  I  shall  make  her 
happy,"  he  repeated  defiantly,  "Hilda  notwith- 
standing. I'm  beginning  to  think  her  straight- 
lacedness  on  the  subject  of  posing  a  good  thing 
after  all,  for  Clodah  has  a  something  in  her  face 
that  Hilda  lacked ;  an  utter  innocence  of  life  and 
the  sins  of  life.  It  must  not  go  till  I  get  it 
fastened  on  canvas." 

106 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

He  broke  off  nervously,  biting  and  moistening 
his  lips  as  if  consumed  by  a  raging  thirst.  In 
his  mind  was  nothing  but  the  single  thought  of 
his  painting  and  his  model.  If  he  had  done 
what  his  desire  impelled  him  to  do  he  would  have 
taken  the  girl  off  within  the  hour,  whirled  her 
away  to  London,  and  stood  her  up  that  night 
in  his  studio. 

"These  damn  conventionalities,"  he  muttered 
irritably.  "I  can't  hurt  her  now,  she'll  be  of  no 
use  to  me  if  I'm  not  careful.  Why  were  people 
created  with  feelings  to  be  considered?  I  haven't 
any,  thank  God !  And  yet  I  don't  call  myself  a 
cruel  man.  I  don't  torture  cats  or  rabbits, 
couldn't  cut  up  one  to  save  my  soul,  even  if  I 
could  accomplish  by  it  what  these  old  medicine 
men  of  modern  civilization  claim  they  are  doing, 
finding  out  how  to  prolong  life.  I'd  be  kinder 
to  cat  and  Christian,  and  let  the  secret  die  with 
the  natural  death  of  the  feline's  ninth  existence. 
Hilda  claims,  though,  that  I  am  brutal  where 
humanity  is  concerned.  Well,  am  I?  I  hold  the 
question  is  open  for  calm  discussion  at  any  rate. 
She  says  I  care  not  for  others'  feelings. 
Granted !  But  any  suffering  resulting  from  that 
107 


WHAT   MANNER    OF    MAN 

lack  of  care  is  the  fault  of  the  others.  Feelings 
are  obsolete.  I  don't  care  for  my  own,  and  so 
far  I  don't  break,  even  if  I  don't  keep,  the 
Golden  Rule.  She  says  I  would  dethrone  every- 
thing for  the  elevation  of  my  art.  Granted 
again.  But  I  dethrone  myself  for  it,  and  even 
so  far  I  demand  no  more  of  others  than  of  my- 
self. And  still  she  says  I'm  brutal,  and  she  won't 
stop  saying  it,  and  she'll  repeat  it  many  times 
when  she  hears  of  this.  I'll  write  her  as  soon  as 
I  get  back  to  London.  Wonder  if  she'll  throw 
me  over  for  a  bad  lot,  or  if  I  can  make  her 
understand.  I'm  not  brutal  to  Clodah.  I  shan't 
be.  I  like  the  child.  At  present  she  is  unutter- 
ably charming.  Will  a  weariness  of  her  descend 
upon  me  and  blight  her  charm?  Perhaps,  and 
yet  I  think  not.  Her  beauty  is  not  the  sort 
that  fades,  and  she  will  train  as  no  girl  I  ever 
got  hold  of  before  had  the  possibilities  of  doing. 
She  will  have  to  learn  things  of  life  that  she 
has  never  dreamed  of,  but  if  she  takes  the  train- 
ing calmly  she  will  be  none  the  worse.  If  it 
gives  her  a  fever  of  primitive  emotions — well, 
for  her  own  good  I  shall  have  to  try  to  admin- 
ister antidotes.  And  then  Hilda — if  she  be  in 
108 


WHAT   MANNER   OE   MAN 

town  and  hears  Clodah's  story — will  Clodali 
talk? — will  call  me  brutal,  brutal,  brutal!  And 
then — "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
laughed  amusedly. 

"Ah,  well,  all  that  is  in  the  hidden  future. 
For  the  present,  she  is  waiting  for  me,  and  the 
anticipation  of  what  she  will  look  and  be  in  the 
studio  at  home  to-morrow  night  ought  to  carry 
me  over  the  weary  wait  till  I  can  dare  to  begin 
work  on  her."  He  pulled  out  his  watch,  calcu- 
lated that  the  women  he  left  about  her  ought  to 
have  had  time  enough  to  make  gowns  instead  of 
merely  remodeling  them,  and  went  leisurely  back 
to  the  shop. 

Despite  the  time  he  had  given  them  the  women 
had  not  yet  completed  their  task,  and  while  he 
was  waiting  he  went  through  the  show-cases 
again,  and  picked  out  a  trinket  or  two  and  a 
russia  leather  pocketbook  in  addition  to  the 
order  he  had  already  placed  to  be  delivered  that 
afternoon. 

When  Clodah  finally  emerged  from  the  fit- 
ting room  the  secret  of  her  long  delay  was 
explained.  She  was  wearing  the  soft  gray  tailor 
suit.  It  was  her  first  long  skirt,  and  she  showed 
109 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

consciousness  of  the  fact  in  her  walk,  which  was 
not  so  untrammeled  by  far  as  when  she  ran  light- 
ly down  Red  Rock  in  her  short  red  skirt  and 
heavy  shoes.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Clodah 
felt  the  stricture  of  modern  clothes,  but  her  nat- 
ural grace  aided  her  in  wearing  her  unaccus- 
tomed trappings  well.  Thayer  looked  his  satis- 
faction, but  said  nothing  till  they  left  the  shop. 
When  they  were  finally  started  home  he  bent 
down  and  peered  into  her  face. 

"All  the  trouble  over  getting  new  clothes  has 
gone,  dear?"  he  asked.  "You  don't  mind  them 
now?"  * 

Clodah  hesitated ;  then  a  simple  pride  that  sat 
very  sweetly  on  her  came  to  her  rescue. 

"I  was  sorry  for — my  feyther.  He 
wouldna've  wished  that  I  should  be  lackin'  in 
gowns.  In  my  island  the  girls  dinna  let  their 
husbands  buy  for  them  till  they've  been  a  whole 
year  wed.  It  wasna  because  he  would  nae — " 

Thayer  laughed  at  her  so  directly  that  in 
a  moment  she  laughed  too. 

"Your  father  has  given  me  all  that  I  desire  of 
him.  Then  you  had  no  time  to  get  clothes,  and 
you  remember  that  I  wouldn't  let  you  bring 
110 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

away  even  that  wonderful  carved  chest  of  yours 
with  its  linen  stores.  Never  mind,  we'll  go  back 
some  day  soon  and  get  it.  And  anyway,  the 
customs  of  my  island  are  different.  We  expect 
to  begin  buying  for  our  wives  the  day  after  we 
marry  them,  and  no  pence  that  I've  ever  spent 
have  afforded  me  more  pleasure  than  those  I 
deposited  with  the  lady  back  yonder." 

"Are  you  so  well  awa'  wi'  money?"  she  asked 
timidly. 

"My  dear  child,  your  husband  is  an  artist; 
what  a  fickle  world  is  pleased,  for  the  time  being, 
to  call  a  great  artist.  Consequently  he  has  much 
money  at  one  time  or  another,  and  his  only  fault, 
the  one  blemish  on  his  otherwise  spotless  charac- 
ter, is  that  he  doesn't  keep  it.  It  goes  this  way 
and  that." 

Clodah  looked  puzzled  and  a  little  hurt. 
Something  in  his  tone  rang  false.  He  saw  her 
thought  in  her  eyes  and  mouth.  They  were  like 
sensitive  instruments. 

"I  have  enough  for  you  to  have  everything 

you  want,"  he  added,  gravely.     "Whenever  you 

see  any  pretty  gimcrack  in  a  window  that  you 

want  you  are  to  go  in  and  get  it,  and  you  are  not 

111 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

to  feel  that  you  must  ask  me  if  you  may.  You 
are  to  have  your  own  purse,  and  you  are  to  do 
with  it  as  you  choose." 

They  had  reached  their  hotel  by  now,  and 
when  they  were  fairly  in  their  sitting  room  he 
plunged  into  his  pockets,  and  thrust  into  her 
hands  a  nondescript  collection  of  notes,  of  gold, 
and  of  silver. 

"So  much  for  now!"  he  said.  "That  is 
all  yours  and  you  can  spend  it  for  what  you 
choose."  He  stopped  abruptly  as  he  caught 
sight  of  one  note  she  held,  and  began  to  rum- 
mage in  his  pockets  again,  only  to  bring  his 
hands  out  empty. 

"You'll  have  to  lend  me  enough  to  get  us  to 
London,  Clodah,"  he  said  boyishly.  "I  forgot 
and  gave  you  my  reserve  fund !" 

Her  laugh  rang  out,  and  she  put  both  her 
hands  behind  her  in  a  sort  of  humming-bird  de- 
fiance. It  was  the  first  touch  of  coquetry  he  had 
ever  seen  in  her,  and  it  added  another  point  and 
a  valuable  one  to  her  increasing  list  of  possi- 
bilities. He  half  turned  from  her,  but  her  new-, 
found  virtue  did  not  stand  that  test.  She  threw 

112 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

out  her  hands  impulsively,  and  the  notes  and 
gold  fell  to  the  floor  in  an  indiscriminate  clutter. 

"I  care  naught  for  your  gold,"  she  said  with 
a  ring  of  passionate  contempt  in  her  voice.  "It 
is  mud  to  me.  I  care  naught  but  for — " 

Thayer  drew  her  into  his  arms,  and  rubbed 
his  cheek  softly  against  her  shining  hair. 

"And  you  can  care  for  me — still!"  he  mur- 
mured with  something  akin  to  repentance  in  his 
voice.  "Dear  heart,  how  could  you  have  grown 
up  so  unutterably  a  child !" 

She  drew  shyly  away  from  him,  and  in  a  few 
moments  they  were  picking  up  the  money  to- 
gether like  two  children,  and  he  brought  out  her 
new  purse  and  showed  her  its  different  compart- 
ments, and  in  two  of  them  she  found  the  trinkets 
he  had  purchased  for  her  while  he  was  waiting 
in  the  shop.  Later  in  the  afternoon  the  parcels 
came,  and  there  was  much  trying  on,  and 
Clodah  attempted  to  play  the  passive  doll  and 
only  succeeded  in  making  of  herself  a  bewitch- 
ingly  shy  girl.  Thayer  experimented  with  her 
hair,  and  then  gave  her  a  few  lessons  in  its 
artistic  arrangement.  Later,  after  all  the  new 


113 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

things  were  put  away  in  the  new  trunk,  and  din- 
ner was  over,  and  the  lovely  twilight  was  her- 
alding the  coming  of  night,  they  sat  down 
together  beside  an  open  window  through  which 
the  winding  river  could  be  seen.  Clodah  sur- 
rendered herself  to  the  silence  of  the  closing  day, 
to  thoughts  at  whose  wondering  trend  Thayer 
guessed  with  commendable  directness.  He 
glanced  at  her  now  and  then  as  she  sat  by  him  in 
her  childish  white  gown  of  soft  flowing  mull, 
and  suddenly  he  bent  over  her. 

"What  made  you  come  to  me,  Clodah?"  he 
murmured.  She  looked  up,  startled  by  the  ab- 
rupt question. 

"Come  to  you — when  ?"  she  asked. 

"When  your  father  held  you  away  from  me." 

She  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"I  could  nae  keep  away,"  she  murmured. 
"That's  all  I  know.  You  were  going  to  the 
boat.  I  could  nae  stay."  After  a  timid  pause 
she  slipped  her  hand  in  his.  "Was  it  right? 
I  could  nae  do  it  again.  I  could  nae  hae  done 
it  then  if  I  had  stopped  to  think.  But  my  heart 
had  gone,  and  my  silly  feet  followed."  There 
was  another  silence  which  Clodah  broke  rest- 
114 


WHAT   MANNER   OF    MAN 

lessly.  "We  island  folk  get  no  letters,  not  often. 
I  never  wrote  a  letter  in  all  my  life.  But  I 
promised  my  feyther  I  would  let  him  know  how 
it  is  with  me.  Would  you  show  me  how  to 
send  it?" 

"Can  you  write,  Clodah?"  Thayer  felt  an 
irresistible  impulse  to  laugh  at  his  question. 
Such  a  strange  question  for  a  man  to  ask  in  all 
seriousness  of  his  lawful  wife !  But  Clodah  an- 
swered in  all  seriousness.  The  comical  aspect  of 
the  case  failed  to  appeal  to  her. 

"Ah  yes,"  she  said  proudly,  gladly.  "My 
brother  George,  he  taught  me  to  write.  I  can 
read,  too,"  she  added  shyly. 

"What  have  you  read?"  he  asked  idly,  im- 
pelled thereto  not  so  much  from  the  desire  to 
know  as  from  the  charm  that  her  voice  and  inno- 
cence wove  about  the  languorous  night. 

"I  hae  read  the  Bible,"  Clodah  began  rever- 
ently. "The  sunsets  and  the  last  book  are  like 
each  other.  Don't  you  like  Revelation?" 

"Yes,"  Thayer  murmured,  but  he  spoke  from 
a  different  vocabulary. 

"An'  then  a  few  papers  sometimes  that  my 
feyther  would  bring  over  from  the  mainland. 
115 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

And  then — ah  yes," — her  eyes  glowed, — "I've 
read  a  man  that  writes  beautiful  things,  that 
goes  like  music.  I  don't  know  how  you  say  its 
name,  the  name  of  the  poem." 

"Don  Juan!"  Thayer  exclaimed  in  great 
amaze  after  her  spelling  of  the  title.  "Where 
in  the  name  of  your  guardian  angel  did  you 
get  hold  of  Byron?" 

"Isna  't  lovely?"  Clodah  said  in  great  joy  at 
having  read  something  that  some  one  of  the 
great  world  recognized  in  common  with  her. 
"It  was  a  book  Maister  Davenport  left  the  sum- 
mer he  came  to  the  island." 

"Do  you  believe  in  Fate,  Clodah?"  Thayer 
asked  gravely. 

"Fate?     If  Fate  be  Providence." 

"Well,  that's  another  name  for  the  same 
thing.  People  don't  call  everything  by  the 
same  word.  Call  it  Providence."  He  was  smil- 
ing, was  thinking  how  he  should  tell  Hilda  that 
the  match  was  wholly  of  her  making,  hers  and 
her  husband's. 

"Hae  you  read  the  book,  too?"  Clodah  asked 
excitedly.  "Is  that  the  Fate  you  mean?" 

116 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

"Yes,"  said  Thayer  in  general  answer.  "Did 
you  like  the  Don,  Clodah?" 

"Some,"  said  Clodah  with  hesitation.  "He 
was  so  unhappy  I  was  sorry  for  him,  and  he 
didna  know  he  was  unhappy,  either.  It  wasna 
right  o'  him  to  go  away  so  much  and  leave  the 
women  folk  sorry.  But  he  was — I  wonder  if  I 
should  'a  loved  him  like  the  rest  did !" 

"I  wonder  if  you  have  loved  him,"  Thayer 
said  softly.  Clodah  threw  back  her  head  and 
looked  into  his  eyes  with  the  only  abandon  she 
had  ever  shown  him  since  the  night  she  had 
flung  off  her  father's  detaining  hand  to  throw 
herself  into  his  arms. 

"I  hae  loved  you,"  she  breathed. 

The  dim  twilight  was  creeping  over  the  earth, 
and  they  sat  in  silence  until  the  distant  woods 
and  the  gleam  of  the  river  were  blotted  out. 
Then  Thayer  gave  her  a  soft  little  shake. 

"Do  you  want  to  write  to  your  father  to- 
night?" he  asked.  "Because  if  you  do  it's  time 
to  begin.  Then  we'll  take  it  down  and  post  it 
together." 

Clodah  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  table, 


117 


while  he  lighted  the  lamps  and  got  some  writing 
materials  together.  Then  she  spoke  shyly. 

"I  told  you  I  never  wrote  a  letter  before. 
Would  you — mind  telling  me  how  to  begin?" 

Thayer  laughed  amusedly.  What  would  he 
have  said  two  months,  two  weeks,  before  at  the 
thought  of  being  writing-master  to  his  own 
wife?  And  yet  he  was  forced  to  confess  that 
the  situation  was  not  without  a  unique  and  dis- 
tinctly novel  charm. 

"Suppose  I  write  you  a  letter,  and  then  you 
can  read  it  and  see  for  yourself  how  it  goes." 
He  sat  down  and  began  to  scribble  rapidly.  In 
a  few  moments  he  folded  the  sheet,  put  it  in  an 
envelope,  sealed  and  addressed  it,  and  then 
pulled  Clodah  down  on  his  knee. 

"Now,"  he  began  categorically,  "I  am  the 
postman,  and  I  have  just  brought  you  a  letter 
from  your  husband,  who  has  gone  away  on  a 
fishing  trip.  You  are  opening  it  with  all  the 
delight  you  should  properly  feel  after  not  hav- 
ing seen  him  for  three  days." 

Clodah  laughed  like  a  child,  and  pulled 
out  the  letter  impatiently.  He  watched  her  as 
she  read,  and  smiled  in  purest  fun  at  the  slow 
118 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

rising  flush  that  spread  over  her  face.  She  did 
not  get  along  very  rapidly,  for  Thayer  wrote 
the  fearful  hand  that  belongs  to  genius,  and 
finally  he  drew  the  sheet  over  to  him  and  began 
to  help  her  out. 

"My  dear  little  flower  of  a  girl,"  he  read,  "I 
thought  I  should  stay  a  week  in  the  old  haunts, 
but  I  shan't  stay  a  day.  I  thought  the  fish 
would  be  the  friends  they  had  been,  that  the 
trees  would  welcome  me  back,  that  the  birds 
would  sing  the  same  old  notes,  and  that  I  should 
have  a  jolly  good  time.  But  the  fish  say,  'You 
aren't  thinking  of  us ;  you  let  us  nibble  and  you 
don't  pay  any  attention  to  signs.'  The  trees 
say,  'Once  you  loved  us  dearly,  but  you  love 
some  one  else  better  now.'  The  birds  fly  heavily 
and  sing  not  at  all ;  they  only  chirp  sorrowfully, 
'Our  songs  rejoiced  you  once,  but  now  you  are 
longing  to  hear  another  song  from  another 
throat,  and  we  can  sing  you  only  the  songs  we 
know.'  And  so  to-night  I'm  going  to  leave  the 
fish  in  safety,  and  let  the  trees  murmur  to  them- 
selves, and  say  good  by  to  the  silent  birds,  and 
come  back  to  you.  And  when  I  have  heard  again 
119 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

the  music  of  your  voice,  and  felt  your  tender 
arms  about  my  neck,  and  the  fragrance  of  your 
breath  against  my  cheek,  I  shall  wonder  how  I 
ever  could  have  left  you  for  the  woodland  things ; 
and  I  shall  vow  that  when  I  go  back  to  the  woods 
I  shall  take  the  fairest  flower  with  me,  and  the 
sweetest  song,  and  the  trees  shall  murmur  above 
us  both,  and  the  flowers  shall  carpet  the  way  for 
us  two,  and  the  birds  shall  sing  their  sweetest 
songs  to  welcome  their  lovelier  songster.  With 
a  heart  full  of  love,  Kirk." 

"It's  more  beautiful  than  all  the  poetry,"  said 
Clodah  in  a  choked  little  voice  that  had  in  it 
what  she  could  not  put  into  words. 

"Now  then,"  said  Thayer  a  few  moments 
later,  "you  begin  any  way  you  want  to  and  write 
to  your  father  just  what  you  would  say  to  him 
if  he  were  here,  as  nearly  as  you  can  do  it. 
That's  the  secret  of  good  letter-writing.  Talk 
to  people,  forget  you  have  a  pen  in  your  hand." 

Clodah  sat  down  in  quite  a  flutter,  notwith- 
standing Thayer's  rules  for  polite  correspond- 
ence, and  he  watched  her  as  she  bent  herself  to 
her  task.  Her  pen  moved  very  slowly ;  her  fair 
120 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

head  was  bowed  low  over  the  page.  Many  min- 
utes went  by.  Finally  Thayer,  over  by  the  win- 
dow, heard  a  deep  breath.  He  turned  to  find 
Clodah  folding  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which 
she  had  been  so  busily  at  work.  She  was  look- 
ing doubtfully  at  it  and  the  envelope. 

"In  trouble  ?"  he  asked,  coming  over  to  her. 

"Is  it  spoiled?"  she  asked  fearfully. 

He  took  the  letter  in  his  hands,  folded  so 
many  times  that  it  quite  failed  to  mate  with  the 
envelope  he  had  provided. 

"It  doesn't  fit,"  he  smiled,  "but  if  you  address 
the  envelope  right  the  folds  of  the  letter  won't 
matter."  He  smiled  again  as  he  saw  the  super- 
scription: "The  Rohan,  Rohan  Island,  Great 
Britain."  Then  he  slipped  the  letter  into  the 
envelope. 

"What  have  you  written  to  your  father  about 
us  ?"  he  asked  idly.  He  felt  a  keen  self-reproach 
as  he  saw  her  visible  shrinking. 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  protested  hastily. 
"Really,  Clodah.  Take  it  back ;  take  it  and  seal 
it  up.  Of  course,  what  you  have  written  is  for 
him  and  you.  It  was  a  foolish  question;  one 
that  I  didn't  mean,  dear." 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

But  Clodah  was  closing  his  fingers  over  the 
letter  he  had  returned  to  her. 

"Read  it,"  she  said  softly.  "I  can  never  tell 
you  what  is  in  my  heart.  I  canna  get  the  words. 
But  it  wasna  so  hard  to  write  to  my  feyther." 

Thayer  took  the  letter  with  a  feeling  that  he 
had  been  prying  and  impertinent,  but  resistance 
was  vain.  Clodah  would  not  have  understood 
liis  refusal,  and  would  only  have  blamed  herself 
for  her  first  shrinking  from  his  question.  He 
opened  the  paper  slowly.  The  girl  stood  with 
her  back  to  him,  and  her  head  leaning  against 
his  arm.  .  ** 

"My  own  father,"  he  read,  "I  am  writing  you 
after  being  away  from  you  these  hours  to  thank 
you  again  for  letting  me  go.  I  think  I  see  more 
clear  how  hard  it  must  have  been  for  you  to  let 
me  go  away  without  your  knowing  more  what 
manner  of  man  I  have  gone  away  with.  But 
you  did  not  do  wrong  in  letting  me  go.  He  is 
my  life,  and  without  him  I  should  die.  I  know 
you  will  miss  me  sore,  but  you  did  not  do  wrong 
in  letting  me  come,  and  I  did  not  do  wrong  in 
coming.  While  we  were  crossing  the  sea  last 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

night  I  wondered  if  I  was  sinning  in  leaving 
you  when  it  hurt  you  so  sore  to  let  me  go.  But 
I  seem  to  have  learned  so  many  things  since  he 
came  to  get  me  and  since  I  went  away,  and 
though  there  is  a  duty  I  owe  my  father,  there  is 
another  duty  I  owe — I  know  not  who  or  what. 
It  is  selfish  to  say  it  is  a  duty  I  owe  myself,  and 
it  seems  strange  with  all  his  world  he  could  not 
live  without  me  even  if  I  had  not  come  with  him, 
so  I  know  not  if  it  is  a  duty  I  owe  him.  Per- 
haps you  know,  my  father,  what  I  mean.  I 
know  not.  Many  things  I  have  learned,  but 
many  more  are  like  shadows  that  will  not  be 
caught.  I  write  to  let  you  know  I  am  content, 
I  can  not  tell  you  how  content,  and  I  shall  love 
you  all  the  more  for  the  great  love  I  bear  him. 
Sometime  I  shall  come  back  to  you,  and  tell  you 
all  that  has  happened  to  me  in  the  great  world. 
This  is  my  first  letter,  so  I  fear  it  is  not  good. 
My  father,  my  father!  Your  Clodah." 

Thayer  read  the  simple  letter  with  a  rising 

something  in  his  throat  that  had  been  a  stranger 

to  it  for  many  years.     He  was  too  innately  the 

artist  not  to  be  intensely  moved  by  the  utter 

123 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

simplicity  of  the  phrasing,  the  directness  of  the 
unpretending  Anglo-Saxon  words.  Then,  too, 
he  felt,  as  no  other  could,  the  hidden  tragedies 
in  every  sentence,  the  unwritten  confessions.  He 
slipped  the  childishly  folded  sheet  into  its  en- 
velope and  sealed  it.  He  put  it  down  on  the 
table,  where  it  lay  forgotten  till  the  morning; 
and  then,  moved  by  an  emotion  that  for  the 
first  time  was  all  tenderness  for  her,  he  stooped 
down  and  gathered  Clodah  into  his  arms. 


The  next  evening  they  reached  London. 
Thayer  had  telegraphed  his  man,  and  that 
most  perfect  of  servants,  trained  into  his 
perfections  through  many  bitter  storms  and 
much  love  of  his  master,  had  all  things  necessary 
for  the  welcoming  of  his  master's  bride.  How 
astounded  he  had  been  at  the  terse  message  which 
announced  so  portentous  a  change  in  the  artist's 
menage  does  not  concern  the  progress  of  this 
story,  but  his  sole  and  only  comment  thereon 
is  worth  repeating  if  only  for  its  brevity: 
"Poor  lady !"  Hughes  knew  his  master  as  none 
save  one  knew  him,  and  his  opinion  on  all  that 
concerned  Thayer  in  matters  domestic,  social, 
physical  and  moral,  was  worth  the  great  trouble 
necessary  to  obtain  it. 

The  beautiful  home  never  looked  more  beau- 
tiful than  in  its  gala  dress  for  the  bridal  pair. 
Flowers  were  everywhere,  and  Hughes'  own  care- 
ful hand  was  apparent  in  Clodah's  room,  where 
125 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

roses  nodded  and  lovely  ferns  waved  in  the  sum- 
mer breeze.  She  looked  blindly  about  her  as 
Thayer  led  her  into  the  hall  of  the  home  that 
was  now  hers,  and  when  he  left  her  for  a  little 
time  at  the  door  of  her  room  she  stood  in  a  sort 
of  shame  in  the  midst  of  the  luxurious  beauty. 
All  this  he  had  given  her,  and  in  return  what 
had  she  to  offer  him?  Only  her  love,  a  love  too 
humble  in  its  self -depreciation  i  too  exalted  in 
its  spiritual  yearnings. 

At  Thayer's  desire  she  was  to  put  on  that 
night  the  one  gown  in  her  hurriedly  prepared 
trousseau  of  which  he  unreservedly  approved, 
and,  mindful  of  his  parting  injunction  to  hurry, 
she  began  to  drag  it  out  of  its  box.  She  bathed 
her  flushed  face  with  feverish  desire  for  the 
cooling  water,  and  let  down  her  wealth  of  shin- 
ing hair.  She  tried  to  put  it  up  in  the  intricate 
puffs  and  coils  that  Thayer  had  attempted  to 
teach  her  the  day  before,  but  she  tried  in  vain. 
She  was  tired  and  worn  and  hurried,  and  at  last 
in  utter  despair  she  gathered  it  together  in  its 
two  accustomed  plaits  and  let  them  Hang. 

Hot  tears  hurried  to  her  eyes  as  she  got  hastily 
into  the  wonderful  rose  velvet  gown.  It  was 
126 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

made  in  a  quaint  Empire  style,  and  the  low-cut 
neck  revealed  to  Clodah  all  unsuspecting  a 
beauty  which  up  to  this  time  she  had  not  valued 
at  anything  like  its  true  worth — a  white,  full, 
graceful  throat  set  upon  perfect  shoulders.  It 
failed  to  comfort  her  now,  for  she  was  strug- 
gling desperately  against  the  cold  splendor  of 
her  surroundings  and  the  unnatural  girl  that 
the  mirror  flung  back  at  her.  It  was  all  so 
stately,  so  cold,  so  lonely.  And  then  her  hair 
would  not  go  up.  It  was  well  that  Thayer's 
knock  sounded  when  it  did.  She  forced  back 
her  crowding  emotions  with  a  childish  bravery, 
and  tried  hard  to  get  the  tremble  out  of  her 
voice. 

"What  a  Gretchen  you  look  with  those  two 
pigtails!"  he  cried  gaily.  "But  aren't  you  go- 
ing to  be  the  stately  lady  to-night?" 

Something  in  the  doubtful  way  she  touched 
her  hair  and  the  tremble  of  her  lips  told  him  the 
secret  of  her  undeniable  dejection, — a  small  part 
of  the  secret. 

"You  must  have  a  maid  to  do  all  the  tire- 
some work  for  you  pretty  soon,"  he  went  on  as 
he  pushed  her  down  on  a  chair  and  began  to 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

manipulate  her  braids.  "We  won't  have  her 
till  later  in  the  autumn,  but  she'll  save  your  arms 
getting  tired  when  she  comes."  In  a  few  mo- 
ments he  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her  softly. 

"You  are  so  lovely,"  he  said  with  all  the  sin- 
cerity in  his  voice  that  any  woman  could  ask. 
And  for  the  time  the  strangeness  of  the  luxuri- 
ous home  went  away. 

Clodah  felt  a  little  undressed  when  she  went 
into  the  small  but  perfect  dining-room  where 
Hughes  moved  about  so  gravely  and  respect- 
fully ;  but  if  there  had  been  anything  out  of  the 
way  surely  her  husband  would  have  minded,  she 
told  herself  with  reiterating  persistency.  Her 
mounting  excitement  made  her  appetite  small, 
and  when  the  dinner  was  over  and  Thayer  took 
her  out  of  the  room  she  felt  relieved. 

Without  a  word  of  explanation,  they  began 
climbing  stairs,  and  finally  on  the  third  floor 
came  to  a  door  before  which  Thayer  stopped  and 
took  out  his  keys.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
sudden  flash  of  comprehension  in  her  eyes,  and  he 
smiled  down  at  her.  In  another  moment  they 
were  within  the  great  studio.  She  stood  on  the 
threshold  while  Thayer  went  in  and  lighted  some 
128 


lamps,  and  touched  a  flame  to  the  ready-laid  fire 
in  the  fireplace. 

Clodah's  eyes  were  widening  in  the  fashion 
they  had  when  she  was  greatly  moved.  Such 
a  room  she  had  never  dreamed  of,  all  shadows 
and  strange  recesses.  Rough  easels  and  rich 
hangings  were  mixed  with  odd  discrimina- 
tion. Several  picturesque  Spanish  chairs  stood 
about  with  their  upholsterings  of  leather  and 
green  velvet.  Great  columns  stood  here  and 
there;  busts,  globes,  stuffed  beasts,  plaster 
casts  and  musical  instruments  took  up  their  full 
quota  of  space.  The  walls  were  covered  with 
curious  things:  helmets,  weapons,  rare  rugs. 
Lion  and  tiger  skins  lay  on  the  polished  floor. 

Thayer  was  a  thoroughgoing  artist,  and  his 
could  not  be  called  the  studio  of  pure  luxury. 
Yet  it  did  not  lack  rare  and  lovely  things.  He 
took  Clodah  all  about  it,  let  her  turn  over  can- 
vases, and  rummage  in  corners,  and  all  unwit- 
tingly get  her  hands  much  soiled  with  dust  and 
half-dried  paints.  Such  housekeeping  she  did 
not  in  the  least  approve,  she  told  him  after 
she  came  back  to  him  with  her  hands  still  cold 
and  moist  from  their  recent  bath. 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

As  time  went  on  she  grew  more  and  more 
quiet;  her  questions  finally  ceased,  and  she  stirred 
restlessly  rather  than  curiously  about  the  studio. 
At  last  after  she  had  exhausted  for  present  de- 
light the  wealth  of  artistic  paraphernalia  so  en- 
trancing to  unaccustomed  eyes  she  came  slowly, 
almost  reluctantly,  over  to  where  Thayer  was 
standing  in  the  glow  of  the  fire.  The  spires  of 
light  leaped  up  her  throat  and  turned  her  hair 
to  a  glory  that  rivaled  the  flames.  Her  hands 
were  clasped  before  her  in  the  quaint  childish 
fashion  he  remembered  from  the  summer  before, 
and  though  her  body  was  facing  him,  her  head 
was  turned  away  till  he  could  see  only  the  in- 
tensely delicate  profile.  Her  eyes  were  fastened 
on  a  curious  pillar  standing  against  the  far  wall. 

"You  asked  me  yesterday,"  she  began  in  Eng- 
lish that  was  painstakingly  slow  but  otherwise 
quite  pure,  "how  it  was  that  I  was  such  a  child. 
Last  night  in  all  the  strangeness  of  this  land  of 
yours  I  lay  awake  long  hours  thinking  why.  My 
feyther,"  it  was  her  only  lapse,  "kept  me  all  my 
life  from  girls  and  women.  Something  tells  me 
they  say  things  that  men  do  not ;  that  they  talk 
about — things.  And  of  course  my  feyther  did 
130 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

not  tell  me  things.  You  have  in  your  country 
here  an  old  story — my  brother  told  it  me  when 
I  was  a  little  child — of  a  princess  who  went  to 
sleep  and  slept  and  slept,  and  finally  a  prince 
came  and  kissed  her  and  then  she  woke  up. 
When  you — kissed  me — that  day  you  came — I 
think  I  had  been  sleeping  all  my  life — you  woke 
me — I  am  very  ignorant — ignorant  of  much  I 
should  have  known — "  She  stopped ;  her  throat 
had  swelled  with  an  uncontrollable  emotion,  and 
it  choked  her  utterance.  Then  with  a  little 
smile  that  grew  from  faintness  to  loveliness  she 
went  on. 

"You  told  me  last  night  that  I  must  learn 
to  look  you  straight  in  the  eyes,  that  all 
wives  should  so  look  at  their  husbands,  that  my 
shyness  made  you  want  to  shake  me.  Is  that  to 
be  one  task  of  mine?  Well  then — "  Her  fin- 
gers were  twisting  nervously,  but  she  turned  her 
face  slowly  toward  him.  For  a  second  only  she 
met  his  eyes ;  then  she  sank  forward  against  his 
breast. 

"Ah,  I  canna,"  she  whispered  breathlessly. 
"I  canna,  I  canna!" 

Thayer  held  her  in  his  arms  and  laughed 
131 


WHAT    MANNER    OF   MAN 

nervously  over  her  shining  head.  Her  mur- 
mured words,  her  pure  confession  touched  to 
pain  some  hidden  chord  within  him  just  as  her 
simple  letter  had  moved  him  the  night  before. 
Her  nature  was  unfolding  before  him  so  en- 
tirely in  accord  with  her  wonderful  type  of 
beauty  and  the  Arcadian  simplicity  of  her  life 
environment  that  his  sense  of  proportion  could 
not  but  be  gratified,  his  deepest  artistic  instincts 
completely  satisfied,  and  a  tender  ecstacy  filled 
him  with  every  new  revelation  of  her  inner  self. 
Never  before  had  he  had  a  human  soul  beside 
him  whose  stirrings  he  could  see  and  sway  as  he 
could  this  girl's;  and  never  before  in  all  his  sa- 
tiated life  had  he  come  in  contact  with  a  girl  who, 
with  no  arts  whatever,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
she  knew  no  arts,  had  been  able  to  pierce  through 
his  outer  man,  and  appeal  directly  to  the  most 
dominant  feeling  within  him,  the  part  of  his  na- 
ture that  stood  in  him  for  what  in  current  for- 
mula is  called  the  spiritual  side  of  man.  Thayer 
would  not  have  denied  the  existence  within  him  of 
a  spiritual  nature ;  he  would  not  have  gone  to  the 
trouble.  But  in  his  philosophy  of  life  he  was  a 
materialist  of  materialists,  and  he  had  long  ago 
132 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

reached  that  stage  where  life  had  forever  lost 
its  joy  for  him,  and  had  become  merely  a  span 
of  years  to  live  out  in  as  great  an  oblivion  of  the 
world's  woe  as  might  well  be.  He  had  few  emo- 
tions in  the  primitive  sense  of  the  word.  He 
had  deliberately  killed  them  years  before,  and 
had  done  so  because  he  felt  thereby  he  was  nearer 
an  earthly  Lethe. 

But  deep  within  him,  hidden  from  all  his 
world,  lay  a  worship  for  the  beautiful  that  ugly 
modernity  had  not  dulled  nor  materialism 
blunted;  a  worship  of  the  beautiful  wherever 
he  found  it,  in  nature  or  in  man,  a  worship 
poured  out  with  lavish  extravagance  when  it 
found  a  fitting  shrine.  In  society  he  was 
called  various  things — cynic,  roue,  atheist, 
viveur.  He  was  accepted  without  question  for 
his  personality,  his  wealth,  his  genius ;  yet  moth- 
ers guarded  their  daughters  well  when  he  was 
about.  Not  but  that  almost  any  one  of  the  vir- 
tuous matrons  would  have  given  him  her  choicest 
bud  had  he  sought  it,  but  they  knew  so  well  that 
he  desired  no  marriage  rites  read  over  him ;  and 
his  personality  and  attraction  were  such  that 
more  than  one  high-bred  young  maid  had  gone 
133 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

a-mourning  for  a  space  after  an  evening  or  two 
spent  in  his  dangerous  vicinity. 

Hilda  Davenport  was  the  only  woman  who 
had  ever  succeeded  in  reading  Thayer  correctly, 
and  her  success  came  not  from  endeavor,  but 
from  a  sympathy  between  their  natures  as  satis- 
fying as  it  was  unexplainable.  She  saw  through 
his  words  and  acts  to  his  inner  motives,  and  she 
knew,  and  truly,  that  his  great  weariness  of  the 
world,  his  intolerance  of  its  conventions,  sprang 
from  a  spirit  that  longed  for  beauty  such  as  the 
world  can  never  know,  a  beauty  that  is  beyond 
human  realization. 

His  ideals  were  so  infinitely  in  advance  of 
his  age  that  he  had  early  despaired  of  attain- 
ing them,  and  in  his  despair  had  plunged 
into  the  excesses  for  which  he  was  noted,  and 
by  which  he  was  judged.  But  though  he  had 
succeeded  in  deadening  his  emotions  and  feel- 
ings, though  his  philosophy  was  the  extremity  of 
materialism,  though  every  painting  he  sent  out 
was  his  despair  rather  than  his  glory  since  in 
it  he  had  fallen  so  far  short  of  his  yearning,  yet 
the  spirit  of  reverence  for  beauty  incarnate 

134, 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

dwelt  within  him  and  at  the  slightest  beckoning 
leaped  up  with  its  old-time  flame. 

To-night  there  was  a  sob  in  his  laugh  as  he 
pressed  Clodah  closer  to  him,  not  of  love  for  the 
girl,  of  pride  that  she  was  so  wholly  his,  but  of 
unutterable  appreciation  of  her  artistic  values. 
His  esthetic  nature  she  satisfied  completely,  and 
with  that  strange  limitation  of  the  artistic  tem- 
perament he  lost  sight  of  the  personal  equation, 
nor  knew  that  he  ignored  it.  For  the  moment 
he  was  not  holding  Clodah  Rohan,  nor  did  he 
stoop  at  last  to  kiss  his  wife,  but  he  was  clasping 
in  a  passionate  embrace  an  ideal  harmony  of 
soul  and  heart  and  spirit ;  and  he  pressed  his  lips 
on  a  face  whose  loveliness  was  the  outer  symbol 
of  the  inner  self. 

At  last  he  pushed  her  head  back  against  his 
shoulder.  "Have  you  died  and  slipped  away 
from  me?"  he  murmured.  The  color  came  back 
to  her  pale  cheeks  with  a  rush. 

"Ah,  tell  me,"  she  pleaded,  "tell  me  how  I  can 
serve  you,  what  I  can  do  for  what  you  have  done 
for  me.  It  shall  be  anything  that  you  ask,  but 
ah  me,  you  will  ask  me  nothing,  or  else  you  will 
laugh  and  tell  me  to  fetch  you  a  book." 
135 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

Thayer's  eyes  narrowed.  "I'll  tell  you  what 
you  can  do,"  he  said  slowly;  "you  can  stand 
here  on  this  white  fur  rug,  and  you  can  let  me 
sketch  you." 

Clodah's  lips  parted  in  delight.  "Me — am 
I  fit  to  sketch?  Ah,  you  said  once  that  I  looked 
like  that  beautiful  lady  who  came  that  day. 
Did  you  mean  it  then  or  were  you  making  a  joke 
of  me?" 

He  was  walking  around  her;  a  new  light  was 
in  his  eyes.  His  lids  were  half  closed  while  he 
examined  her  critically. 

"Over  there,"  he  said.  "Let  your  hand  drop 
— no,  clasp  it — there !  Mrs.  Davenport !  you  are 
ten  thousand  times  better!"  The  last  sentence 
was  under  his  breath.  Clodah  caught  it  and 
looked  awed.  He  had  said  it  as  if  it  were  one  of 
the  things  he  meant.  She  had  learned  before 
this  that  some  of  Thayer's  sayings  he  did  not 
mean,  and  she  compromised  the  matter  with  her 
truthful  conscience  by  calling  them  jokes.  Cer- 
tainly this  was  not  a  joke ! 

"Is  she — Mrs.  Davenport — here  in  London?" 
Clodah  asked  timidly,  somewhat  impressed  by 
the  altogether  masterful  and  impersonal  way  in 
'  136 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

which  Thayer  pulled  her  here  and  there.  He 
did  not  hear  her.  He  was  lighting  more  lamps 
and  putting  them  in  what  seemed  to  Clodah  un- 
reasonable places. 

"Now  stand  quite  still,"  he  said  at  last. 
"We'll  take  this  for  a  trial.  Lower  your  chin — 
so.  Just  a  moment." 

He  began  to  draw  rapidly,  and  Clodah  stood 
for  life.  After  the  manner  of  the  inexperienced 
model,  she  was  afraid  so  much  as  to  breathe 
comfortably,  and  in  a  few  moments  she  began  to 
feel  tense  and  strained.  Not  that  she  would 
have  owned  to  discomfort  at  all;  consequently 
she  was  much  surprised  and  somewhat  disap- 
pointed when  in  a  surprisingly  short  time  Thay- 
er put  down  his  crayon  and  came  over  to  her.  It 
was  only  for  a  change  of  pose,  however. 

"Raise  your  chin  a  trifle,"  he  said  absently. 
"So — no,  the  line  is  wrong."  He  frowned  and 
came  back  to  her.  "Where  are  the  hooks  and 
things?  You  must  have  some  low  bodices  made 
immediately."  He  had  torn  open  the  front  of 
her  gown  and  was  pushing  down  the  linen  and 
lace  beneath  it.  Then  he  folded  in  the  velvet 
bodice  to  a  degree  that  turned  Clodah's  cheeks 
137 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

crimson.  She  stood  resentful  and  ashamed.  He 
had  done  it  so  strangely,  not  after  the  manner 
of  a  caress,  but  as  if  she  were  a  doll,  a  lay  figure, 
something  without  feeling.  She  felt  that  he  was 
looking  at  her,  but  that  he  was  not  seeing  her  at 
all. 

"There,"  he  said  shortly,  "don't  stir!"  He 
went  quickly  back  to  his  easel.  "You  can  move 
your  head  now,"  he  called  out  in  a  few  moments. 

But  Clodah  did  not  take  advantage  of  his 
permission.  She  stood  before  him  in  the  gra- 
cious pose  he  had  put  her  in,  with  her  hands 
clasped  lightly  in  front  of  her,  the  long,  dull 
draperies  flowing  from  her  shoulders  upon  the 
polished  floor,  and  with  her  head  still  in  the  same 
position  in  which  he  had  placed  it.  A  great  re- 
sentment was  welling  within  her,  mixed  with  a 
heart-hurt  that  had  come  too  soon.  For  the 
first  time  since  her  marriage  she  had  been  treated 
roughly,  without  consideration,  with  what  she 
felt  was  an  absolute  lack  of  thought  for  her. 
For  the  first  time  she  began  to  think  that  Thayer 
might  have  a  life,  a  higher  life  from  which  she 
was  to  be  impenetrably  shut  out.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  realize,  still  with  humility,  but  with  a 
138 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

new  stinging  pain,  the  distance  that  lay  between 
them  and  parted  them;  the  weary  obstacles  of 
birth,  of  rearing,  of  environment. 

She  had  felt  a  great  awe  take  possession  of  her 
as  she  entered  the  studio  that  evening.  She  had 
felt  a  deeper  awe  of  and  reverence  for  Thayer  as 
she  went  about  the  wonderful  room  that  held 
properties,  the  tithe  of  which  she  did  not  know 
by  name.  But  up  to  now  in  all  the  newness  and 
the  strangeness  of  her  wedded  life  she  had  felt 
sure  of  his  sympathy  and  care;  now  he  was  far 
from  her  drawing  her  silently,  absorbedly.  She 
dimly  realized  that  ever  since  he  had  first  sug- 
gested sketching  her  she  herself  had  not  once 
been  in  his  mind. 

After  a  little  while  thick  tears  gathered  slowly 
in  her  wide-open  eyes.  Her  lips  quivered  with 
the  unsubdued  force  of  the  sobs  she  was  reso- 
lutely choking  down.  She  was  learning  the 
pains  and  enduring  the  pangs  of  absolute  lone- 
liness. Her  first  terrifying  fear  of  the  new  life 
that  lay  before  her  came  to  her  as  she  stood  mo- 
tionless before  the  dying  fire,  with  her  husband 
at  some  little  distance  from  her,  working  with 
a  rapt  look  on  his  face  that,  had  she  turned  her 
139 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

head  to  see  it,  would  only  have  added  to  her 
pitiful  solitude.  She  had  thrown  off  father  and 
people  to  follow  this  stranger.  For  the  first 
time  she  felt  how  great  a  stranger  he  was  to  her. 

Half  an  hour  passed.  Suddenly  Thayer 
called  to  her  with  a  ring  in  his  voice  that  she 
knew  and  loved. 

"Come  over,  my  lady,  and  see  yourself,  and 
then  ask  me  if  I  think  you  lovely !" 

She  brushed  the  two  great  tears  from  her  eyes, 
the  only  ones  that  had  come.  Then  she  went  over 
to  him,  the  unaccustomed  length  of  her  velvet 
gown  trailing  richly  behind  her.  Thayer  flung 
his  arm  about  her  and  together  they  stood  be- 
fore the  drawing.  Clodah  thought  the  effect  as 
a  whole  rather  queer.  There  were  so  few  lines, 
and  over  it  all  there  were  great  blocks  of  dark 
and  light,  but  something  in  the  line  of  the  dra- 
peries caught  her  eye,  and  she  touched  in  uncon- 
scious rapture  the  lovely  gown  she  wore.  She 
glanced  at  Thayer.  His  face  was  full  of  an 
enthusiasm  she  had  never  seen  before. 

"I  know  I  can  get  your  face,"  he  said  not  at 
all  to  her,  "I  know  your  eyes  already,  and  your 
figure — " 

140 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

He  stopped  and  looked  down  at  her.  She 
had  slipped  one  timid  arm  upward  about  his 
throat. 

"You  don't  love  me  only  because  you  think 
I  am  lovely?"  she  said  anxiously.  It  was  all 
that  she  let  escape  her  of  that  half-hour  of 
suffering. 

It  was  easy  to  answer  Clodah,  and  Thayer 
simply  smiled  into  her  eyes  till  she  laughed 
happily  and  buried  her  face  in  his  arm. 
Then  they  went  about  together  and  put  out  the 
lights  around  the  room,  all  save  the  flame  of  the 
dying  fire.  Clodah  stopped  suddenly  by  the 
queerly  carved  pillar  with  its  heavy  chains  that 
she  had  noted  before. 

"Isna  't  queer,"  she  cried  softly  with  a  pret- 
ty change  to  her  childhood  tongue,  "how  one  '11 
mind  things !  That  day  a  year  agone  you  came, 
I  can  always  see  the  white  wings  o'  the  ship  that 
brought  you.  An'  four  days  back,  I'll  ne'er 
forget  a  little  white  flower  that  lay  beneath  your 
feet  as  you  came  down  the  cliff  to  greet  me.  An' 
to-night — I  think  I  couldna  hae  told  my  lack  o' 
knowledge  if  I  hadna  had  something  to  look  at 
an'  think  about  while  I  was  tellin'.  I'll  ne'er 
141 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

forget  the  ship  nor  the  flower.  An'  I'll  ne'er 
stop  rememberin'  long  as  I  live,  the  shape  o'  the 
post  and  the  hideous  smile  o'  the  head  on  its  top. 
Isna  things  queer !" 

Thayer  had  been  staring  at  her  curiously.  A 
cynical  little  smile  had  flashed  over  his  face,  but 
it  had  quickly  gone  and  a  frown  had  come  in- 
stead. Then  he  laughed  harshly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "things  are  queer.  Come, 
it's  getting  late." 


Clodah  rose  early  the  next  morning  only  to 
find  that  Thayer  had  risen  before  her.  There 
lacked  yet  a  little  time  till  breakfast,  and  a  sud- 
den curiosity  impelled  her  to  run  up  to  the  studio 
for  a  new  glimpse  of  the  fascinating  creature 
that  Thayer  had  brought  into  life  the  night  be- 
fore. To  her  astonishment  she  found  strewn 
about  the  room  countless  other  sketches  of  her, 
mostly  faces ;  faces  in  every  conceivable  position, 
some  shoulders  that  ended  abruptly  at  the  throat 
and  leisurely  at  the  fore  arm;  some  figure 
sketches,  figures  bare,  figures  draped,  figures 
bent  in  every  imaginable  way.  To  one  who 
knew  Thayer's  methods  the  fact  would  have  been 
instantly  apparent  that  some  dominant  idea  had 
possession  of  his  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
things  else,  even  rest  and  sleep.  Clodah  only 
stared  in  mystification,  and  Thayer,  coming  in 
search  of  her,  found  her  bending  over  the 
143 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

sketches  with  a  "mustn't-touch"  docility  that  sat 
very  sweetly  on  her. 

"You  haven't  seen  my  treasure  after  all,"  he 
said  when  he  had  turned  them  all  over  for  her, 
and  had  recklessly  torn  some  of  them  into  shreds. 
He  went  over  to  a  distant  table  and  returned 
with  a  drawing  that  he  held  up  before  her,  while 
he  watched  with  delight  the  color  creep  into  her 
face. 

"Did  you  draw  me  while  I  was  asleep?  Do 
I  look  like  that?" 

"I  felt  like  working  last  night,  so  I  came 
back  up  here  to  see  what  I  could  do  with  your 
face  without  you  standing  up  before  me.  This" 
— he  touched  the  drawing  with  great  satisfac- 
tion— "I  came  down  and  drew  from  life,  put  a 
candle  where  it  wouldn't  fall  too  much  on  your 
face,  and  for  four  or  five  minutes  worked  for 
dear  life.  Isn't  it  a  dear  little  thing!"  He 
held  it  off  at  arm's  length  and  viewed  it  crit- 
ically. 

It  was  certainly  that.     In  some  way  he  had 

caught  in  a  few  strokes  the  unconsciousness  of 

sleep,  and  had  put  it  all  in  the  face  of  a  sleeping 

child.     Clodah  continued  to  gaze  at  it  in  won- 

144 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

der.  Finally  she  spoke  with  a  little  catch  of  joy 
in  her  breath. 

"Why,  if  I  look  like  that — I  thought  it  was 
because  you  cared  for  me  that  you  thought  me 
lovely,  but  if  I  look  like  that — " 

"Vain  child!"  Thayer  said  gravely,  all  to  see 
the  confusion  come  that  he  knew  would  over- 
whelm her.  In  the  midst  of  it  he  laughed  at  her 
comfortably,  and,  tucking  her  arm  within  his, 
he  led  her  away  to  a  little  covered  balcony, 
where  their  breakfast  was  waiting  for  them. 

"Do  you  find  it  too  tiresome  to  stand  up  for 
me  to  draw  you?"  he  asked  as  they  were  sitting 
there  when  the  meal  was  over,  from  pure  laziness 
to  move. 

"I  love  to,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"Then  suppose  we  work  a  little  this  morning," 
he  suggested  indolently.  "And  let  me  try  you 
in  something  else  for  a  change — say  that  little 
red  skirt  and  all  the  trappings  that  I  carried 
you  off  in — that  is,  if  you  still  have  them.  Oh, 
you  brought  them  along,  did  you?"  as  she  nod- 
ded vigorously.  "Well  then,  put  your  hair 
down  in  two  tails,  and  put  on  the  island  frock 
exactly  as  you  were  accustomed  to  wear  it,  and 
145 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

then  come  up  to  the  studio,  say  in  about  an  hour. 
You'll  be  busy  till  then  about  getting  your 
things  unpacked,  won't  you?  And  I  have  some 
letters  to  write  that  can't  be  put  off  any  longer." 
He  left  Clodah  at  the  door  of  her  room  and 
disappeared  within  the  studio,  where  he  stood 
looking  with  satisfaction  and  dissatisfaction 
mingled  at  his  work  of  the  night  before. 
Then  he  lighted  a  cigar  and  sat  down  by  a  writ- 
ing table,  where  he  began  to  write  with  a  smile 
on  his  face  that  his  correspondent,  had  she  been 
by  to  see  it,  would  have  recognized  and  made 
haste  to  destroy.  He  began  his  letter  abruptly. 

"Your  felicitations,  dear  Madam,  on  my  hap- 
piness. On  the  night  you  left  London  I  left 
London.  On  the  afternoon  (presumably;  'tis 
more  dramatic  thus !)  that  you  arrived  in  Russia 
I  had  gone  beyond  the  north  of  Scotland  and 
was  climbing  the  cliffs  of  Eilean  Rohan.  There 
I  found  'a  fairy  princess  sleeping  and  I  woke 
her  with  a  kiss.'  You  will  not  understand  the 
quotation.  It  is  her  own  confession,  and  I  would 
add  my  humble  witness  that  it  is  a  true  one.  A 
more  delicious  awakening  it  was  never  man's  lot 
146 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

to  assist  in.  For  once  in  my  unworthy  life  I 
feel  its  unworthiness.  For  once  I  know  regret 
for  a  fevered  past.  For  once  I  am  almost 
steeped  in  a  love  that,  born  of  the  senses,  is  fast 
becoming  what  our  frisky  neighbors  across  the 
channel  call  in  their  delicious  nomenclature  le 
spirituel.  And  the  one  who  has  worked  all  this 
wonderful  change  in  your  world-weary,  selfish 
friend,  dear  Hilda,  is  none  other  than  our  little 
redbird  princess  of  a  summer  ago.  Will  your 
respect  for  my  executive  ability  rise  beyond 
decorous  bounds  when  I  tell  you  that  I  wooed, 
won,  wedded,  and  (to  continue  the  pleasing 
alliteration)  wended  in  the  short  space  of  two 
days?  The  maid  yielded,  the  father  consented, 
the  priest  blessed,  the  island  sailors  rowed  us  to 
the  mainland,  and — oh  yes,  the  quondam  lover 
at  whom  you  so  ingeniously  hinted,  disappeared. 
Have  I  been  reckless?  Perhaps.  Abominable? 
Never !  Clodah  is  as  happy  as  it  is  given  helpless 
mortals  to  be,  and  I  am  lost  in  the  sight  of  her 
happiness  so  far  as  to  get  a  taste  of  it  now  and 
then  myself.  She  worships  you,  I  think,  though 
she  is  shy  on  the  subject  of  worship  in  general 
even  with  her  lord  and  master.  When  you  at 
147 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

last  deign  to  return  to  the  London  you  have  left 
desolate,  Mrs.  Thayer  will  join  me  in  welcoming 
you,  and  all  the  doubt  and  anger  you  are  doubt- 
less feeling  now  will,  at  the  sight  of  her  happy 
face,  melt  like  frigidity  before  the  tropic  sun.. 
In  addition  we  shall  both  be  delighted  to  show 
you  our  united  works  of  art.  Your  friend, 
whose  cynicism  and  worldliness  is  fast  becoming 
absorbed  in  uxorious  bliss,  Kirk  Thayer. 

"Honestly,  Hilda,  she  is  the  loveliest  creature 
physically  that  ever  trod  this  miserable  earth 
of  ours,  and  her  innocence  when  I  took  her  is 
beyond  belief.  When  I  tell  you  her  knowledge 
of  life  and  love  was  empty  nothingness  I  hope 
you  will  take  the  words  literally  as  they  are 
spelled.  And  somehow  through  all  the  fever  of 
quick  courtship  and  early  marriage  it  has  lasted. 
I  confess  to  you  I  have  truly  tried  to  brush  away 
the  bloom  as  lightly  as  it  may  be  done,  and  I 
feel  some  degree  of  humble  pride  in  my  success. 
She  is  delicious,  charming;  she  is  even  develop- 
ing an  embryo  coquetry,  and  she  is  the  hap- 
piest child,  thanks  to  her  white  soul,  in  the  Brit- 
ish Is}eg,  Her  father  was  loath  to  give  her  up, 

148 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

and  for  some  reason  distrusted  me.  I  confess  to 
you  again  that  the  hour  he  gave  me  was  as 
mauvais  as  if  it  were  a  court  alliance  and  I  a  too 
aspiring  cowherd.  But  I  have  the  strength  of 
mind  sufficient  to  admire  even  where  the  senti- 
ment is  not  returned,  and  I  freely  concur  in  the 
opinion  expressed  by  Mr.  Davenport,  whom  I 
have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting,  by  the 
way,  that  The  Rohan  takes  the  cake!  I  sum 
him  up  tersely  in  'brick.'  Kirk. 

"Some  of  this  sounds  as  if  it  isn't  in  earnest, 
and  some  as  if  it  is.  Wonder  if  you  can  pick 
out  which  is  which,  or  if  you  will  take  the 
trouble.  Try  for  the  old  times'  sake.  Thank 
you,  dear,  for  all  you've  done  for  me  consciously 
and  without  knowing  it.  K." 

Thayer  had  hardly  finished  this  characteristic 
epistle  when  the  door  was  pushed  softly  open  and 
Clodah's  fair  head  peered  through. 

"May  I  come  in?"  she  called  childishly.  "I 
feel  like  Clodah  Rohan  now."  She  stood  before 
him  in  the  simple  gown  she  had  worn  on  the  day 
she  left  the  island,  "You  asked  me  if  I  had  it 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

with  me  still,"  she  went  on  with  a  great  reproach 
in  her  eyes.  "Now,  did  you  think  that  I  would 
leave  behind  this  gown  you  kissed  me  in?" 

Thayer  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  in 
irrepressible  mirth.  Clodah  stood  in  upright 
disapproval. 

"Now,  why  do  you  laugh  at  me?"  she  said 
plaintively.  "I  am  trying  all  ways  I  can  to  be 
English,  and  surely  why  should  I  not  save  this 
gown?  Tell  me  why  you  laugh." 

Thayer  drew  her  down  with  gentle  force  on  his 
knee.  "I  am  only  thinking,"  he  said,  "of  what 
some  girls  I  know  would  do  for  house-room  if 
they  kept  all  the  gowns  they  had  been  kissed 
in."  He  paused,  impelled  thereto  by  Clodah's 
look  of  utter  horror. 

"Do  you  mean  that  more  than  one  man  kisses 
them?" 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  he  replied  gravely. 

"Did  you  ever — "  she  began  quickly,  and 
then,  guided  by  some  innate  impulse  that  came 
just  too  late  for  her  own  good,  she  stopped. 

"Heavenly  Father!"  murmured  Thayer.  He 
took  her  flushed  face  between  his  palms.  "Clo- 
dah, what  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  I  had 
150 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

kissed  one  woman  once,  and  that  woman  was 
Mrs.  Davenport?" 

Clodah  flinched,  but  she  rallied  bravely. 

"I  should  not  like  it  with  any  one  else,  but — if 
you  wanted  to — with  you — and  her — why  I 
should  want  to  kiss  her  myself.  No,  I  really 
should  nae  mind." 

Thayer  set  her  hurriedly  on  her  feet. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "as  a  reward  of  merit  for 
bravery  under  fire  I'll  tell  you  this  truth,  that  I 
never  kissed  Mrs.  Davenport.  Ah,  you  did  care 
after  all!"  He  pinched  her  cheek  as  a  glad 
light  shot  into  her  eyes.  "But  you  were  brave 
all  the  same.  Now  for  work." 

For  three  hours  he  tried  her  in  various  ways 
and  numberless  poses,  and  with  each  trial  his 
power  grew  surer  and  his  delight  greater.  She 
had  the  artistic  instinct  within  her  to  a  suf- 
ficient degree  to  be  able  to  catch  an  idea  without 
words,  and  she  seemed  to  grasp  by  intuition 
Thayer's  oftentimes  entirely  incoherent  direc- 
tions. That  morning  accustomed  her  too  to  the 
fact  that  artists  can  not  talk  when  they  work, 
and  that  they  are  apt  to  forget  people  who 
are  in  the  same  room  with  them.  Nothing  of  the 
151 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

loneliness  of  the  night  before  attacked  her,  and 
she  laughed  at  herself,  half  ashamed  for  her 
yielding  to  such  a  foolish  emotion.  Every  now 
and  then  Thayer  would  call  her  over  to  watch  the 
progress  he  was  making,  and  she  would  peer 
under  his  arm  at  the  wonderful  strokes  which 
were  making  her  live  on  the  canvas.  At  noon 
he  threw  down  his  brushes. 

"I've  worked  myself  and  you  too  hard  this 
warm  morning,"  he  said  with  some  faint  re- 
proach. "Come,  we'll  rake  up  some  luncheon 
somewhere,  and  then  we'll  start  out  for  an  after- 
noon and  night  of  it.  There's  nothing  in  this 
dirty  city  worth  seeing,  but  convention  demands 
that  we  spend  good  hours  of  our  lives  admiring 
what  is  not  admirable.  Don't  trouble  to  change 
your  gown  for  luncheon.  I'm  starved,  and  you 
ought  to  be  if  you're  not." 

So  he  carried  her  off  down  to  the  dining  room, 
and  then  for  an  afternoon  of  sightseeing,  and  a 
night  at  the  play. 


152 


For  a  week  all  the  notes  of  Clodah's  marriage 
symphony  were  high  ones.  If  there  was  not 
harmony  she  did  not  miss  it  in  the  richness  of 
the  melody  trilled  about  her.  Already  she 
had  expanded  in  her  whole  nature  under  the 
forcing  power  of  wedded  life.  Her  face  had 
begun  to  lose  its  perfect  childishness ;  her  manner 
had  more  in  it,  though  still  so  little,  of  self- 
assertion.  And  yet,  as  Thayer  had  written  Mrs. 
Davenport,  her  lovely  innocence  had  survived. 
One  of  the  great  loves  that  come  into  some  few 
lives  in  the  span  of  a  century  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  her,  and  the  purity  of  her  passion  had 
proved  greater  than  the  fever  of  it. 

She  had  come  to  Thayer  blindly,  unreason- 
ingly,  only  instinctively.  She  had  married  a 
stranger,  and  already  she  had  set  herself  to  work 
to  study  him  a  very  little,  with  a  yearning  desire 
to  learn  to  know  him  as  well  as  she  knew  the 
heart  of  her  father.  She  had  already  learned 
153 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

that  he  was  different  from  the  silent,  reserved 
men  of  Eilean  Rohan,  who  lived  their  silent  lives 
within  themselves;  different  not  only  in  his  ap- 
pearance and  way  of  life,  but  in  the  manner  of 
his  thought  and  its  resulting  deed.  He  said 
things  whose  words  she  understood,  but  whose 
meaning  was  hidden.  Sometimes  he  spoke  light- 
ly of  what  she  had  been  taught  were  life's  great- 
est mysteries,  spoke  of  them  as  if  they  were  no 
mysteries  at  all.  She  had  been  trained  to  regard 
life  as  a  serious  thing.  Thayer  made  a  jest  of  it, 
a  jest  that  did  not  ring  with  true  mirth.  The 
religion  of  the  islanders  was  not  a  complicated 
one  in  the  sense  that  it  involved  much  churchly 
machinery,  but  it  was  of  very  sturdy  Scottish 
stock,  and  it  did  not  find  its  nourishment  in 
the  sweetmeats  of  easy-going  consciences.  It  was 
simple  but  severe.  So  far  as  she  could  discover, 
her  husband  had  no  religion,  though  she  had  not 
yet  given  up  her  gentle  searchings. 

At  times,  too,  he  sank  into  an  abstraction 
which  she  could  not  understand.  She  tried  brave- 
ly not  to  feel  alone,  yet  her  good  sense  told  her 
that  at  such  times  he  was  as  far  away  from  her 
as  if  he  were  in  another  world.  The  somber 
154. 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

reveries  were  growing  more  frequent,  too,  and 
she  wondered  dimly  what  was  hurting  him,  what 
she  could  do  to  help  him.  The  seventh  morning 
after  her  marriage  she  crept  up  to  him  as  he 
sat  moodily  at  the  breakfast  table,  and  laid  her 
troubled  little  head  on  his  shoulder.  He  did 
not  repulse  her,  but  his  caress  was  perfunctory, 
a  careless  touch  such  as  he  might  have  bestowed 
on  a  stray  dog;  and  then,  oblivious  of  her,  he 
sank  into  a  frowning  abstraction  again.  She 
stayed  by  him  for  some  moments  motionless,  and 
then,  feeling  that  her  presence  was  unnoted  and 
uncared  for,  she  stole  softly  away. 

The  hours  that  followed  made  up  her  first 
black  day.  She  did  not  try  to  seek  Thayer 
again  for  some  time,  and  when  she  did  at  last 
go  in  search  of  him  she  was  met  by  Hughes, 
who  told  her  that  his  master  had  left  the  house 
with  no  word  as  to  his  destination. 

She  ate  her  luncheon  alone,  that  is,  she  sat 
down  at  the  table,  and  Hughes  placed  dishes  be- 
fore her,  and  in  a  few  moments  removed  them. 
That  afternoon  she  spent  in  her  room.  She  tried 
to  write  to  her  father,  but  the  crushing  sense  of 
loneliness  was  too  great  for  her  to  make  her  letter 
155 


WHAT  MANNER  OF  MAN 

cheerful,  and  she  pushed  the  half-written  sheet 
desperately  away.  Hughes  came  up  at  last  to 
announce  dinner,  and  it  was  only  when  she  went 
downstairs  into  the  dining-room  that  she  saw 
Thayer  again.  He  had  come  down  in  his  velvet 
coat,  with  the  odor  of  paints  about  him.  As  she 
came  into  the  room  he  went  over  to  her  gaily. 

"I  feel  ashamed  of  myself,"  he  cried.  "I 
didn't  mean  to  leave  you  so  long  this  morning, 
and  then  when  I  finally  got  started  home  it  was 
in  the  company  of  an  idea  that  drove  me  up- 
stairs, where  I've  been  working  for  five  hours. 
Never  mind,  you  can  see  it  for  a  treat  after 
dinner." 

Clodah  smiled  at  him,  and  refused  to  say 
she  had  been  more  than  a  little  lonely,  but  there 
had  been  a  mournful  droop  to  her  mouth,  a  puz- 
zle of  the  eyes,  and  a  corrugation  of  the  brow 
that  Thayer  noted,  and  because  of  them  had 
sworn  softly  to  and  at  himself.  He  took  Clodah 
and  the  evening  papers  up  to  the  studio  with 
him,  showed  her  his  work  of  the  afternoon,  and 
then  became  absorbed  in  the  news  sheets.  Clodah 
stood  by  him  for  a  few  moments;  then  she 
went  away  from  him  over  to  a  wide  window 
156 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

seat,  and  perched  herself  forlornly  on  it,  look- 
ing like  a  solitary  child.  Thayer  read  through 
one  paper  and  picked  up  another,  but  be- 
tween the  two  he  caught  sight  of  her,  and  after 
that  the  desolate  droop  of  her  figure  came 
between  him  and  the  printed  page.  He  glanced 
through  the  headlines;  then  he  inwardly  braced 
himself  for  what  he  detested,  a  scene  with  a 
woman,  and  throwing  the  papers  down  he  went 
over  to  the  dim  recess.  Clodah  looked  up  at  him 
in  timid  welcoming,  mixed  with  a  deprecation 
that  Thayer  found  rather  irritating  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"What  a  brute  I  am!"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  felt  his  ire  rise.  "Am  I  already  beginning 
to  demand  the  wiles  of  a  worldly  creature  from 
this  child  whose  ignorance  of  her  charms  is  her 
grace  ?" 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  gathered  her  com- 
fortably into  his  arms. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,"  he  said  with  a  laugh  in 
his  voice  that  Clodah  felt  was  directed  against 
her,  and  yet  did  not  resent.  "You  got  up  and 
left  me  all  alone  this  evening  to  read  my  papers, 
and  came  over  here  all  alone  to  this  extremely 
157 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

uncomfortable  seat  because — "  he  stopped  short 
to  laugh  at  her  without  any  pretense  of  hiding 
his  amusement ;  "because  this  morning  I  frankly 
forgot  all  about  you.  And  to-night  you  have 
been  sitting  here  wondering  if  I  am  tired  of  you, 
and  for  fear  I  am  you  have  withdrawn  yourself 
from  my  side,  and  as  nearly  as  you  could  without 
sulking,  which  sin  you  will  never  in  your  very 
nature  be  guilty  of,  from  my  sight.  You  have 
been  afraid  I  am  tired  of  seeing  you  around,  and 
that  I  wish  you  were  an  old  cup  or  something 
of  the  sort  that  I  could  break  or  throw  down 
In  the  street." 

Clodah  nestled  back  against  him. 

"I  think  you  must  be  the  Wizard  man  o' 
Gling-gling  cave,"  she  breathed  in  shame  and 
fun  commingled. 

"The  Wizard  man  of  Gling-gling  cave!"  he 
echoed.  "That  doesn't  sound  nice,  but  a  little 
later  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  the  strange 
gentleman  for  a  punishment,  for  I  intend  to 
punish  you  for  being  naughty  to-day."  He 
paused  and  looked  down  at  her  with  a  short, 
harsh  laugh. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  talk  to  you,"  he 
158 


said  abruptly,  "and  yet  I  must  for  your  own 
good.  I  don't  want  to  make  you  unhappy,  and 
yet  I  shall  have  to  do  it  deliberately  to  avoid — 
perhaps — a  greater  sorrow  for  you.  Look  here, 
Clodah,  I'm  a  strange  man  to  most  people. 
Don't  think  I'm  trying  to  pose  before  you — but 
then  you  won't.  God  knows  what  made  you 
come  to  me  as  you  did.  I  never  dreamed  you 
would,  at  least  with  all  this  feeling  for  me  that 
you  have.  I  didn't  have  to  use  the  charm  of 
the  snake,  at  any  rate,  thank  Heaven,  for  you 
came  to  me  like  a  dear  maiden  out  of  some  old 
folk-lore,  mine  before  I  had  tried  to  take  you. 

"But,  look  here,  by  and  by  you  are  going  to 
be  awfully  hurt  through  me  if  you  let  yourself 
be.  We're  going  to  get  down  out  of  the  clouds 
sooner  or  later,  and  I'm  going  to  get  down  to 
work  again,  and  when  I'm  busy,  and  sometimes 
when  I'm  not,  I  have  very  devils  of  moods, 
Clodah.  Things  you  don't  do  and  things  you 
do  do  and  every  other  thing  on  earth — it  all 
seems  to  irritate  me  then  past  endurance.  Then 
I  say  things,  half  of  them  I  don't  mean  when 
I  say  them,  but  it  gives  me  a  savage  sort  of 
satisfaction  to  see  other  people  wince.  Hughes 
159 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

down  there,  he  worships  me  like  a  dog,  and  if 
I  broke  his  head  for  him  he'd  come  back  to 
me  soon  as  it  was  mended;  but  sometimes  I  get 
so  sunk  in  the  devils  that  I  can't  seem  to  rest 
content  till  I  make  his  poor  old  lips  quiver 
with  pain.  All  this  shocks  you,  even  the  hearing 
of  it,  and  if  I  should  ever  forget  myself  and 
say  something  cruel  to  you — don't  you  see,  Clo- 
dah,  I'm  throwing  mud  on  myself  now  to  warn 
you  against  a  greater  pain. 

"Now  this  morning  when  you  came  up  to  me 
I  was  busy  thinking,  and  the  fact  that  you  came 
up  just  then  bothered  me,  but  I  thought  I 
didn't  show  it.  Honestly,  I  never  knew  when 
you  went  away,  for  I  was  trying  to  work  out  an 
idea  that  worried  me  then,  and  does  yet  for  that 
matter,  and — I  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  you. 
Now  if  you'll  try  to  make  yourself  understand 
that  one  thing  about  me.  Come  to  me  whenever 
you  want  to;  never  hesitate  to  say  or  do  any- 
thing to  me.  But  if  I  frown  or  say  things  don't 
get  hurt.  That's  the  thing  that  aggravates  me 
to  the  point  of  cruelty,  not  the  fact  that  I'm 
interrupted  so  much  as  the  feeling  that  somebody 

160 


is  creeping  about  with  lacerated  feelings.  Have 
I  wounded  you  past  redemption  now  ?" 

Clodah  looked  at  him  with  clear,  shining  eyes. 

"Now  I  feel  more  your  wife  than  you  have 
ever  let  me  feel,"  she  said  softly.  "Anything  you 
ever  tell  me  about  yourself  is  a  joy  to  me  and  not 
a  hurt.  I  think  I  understand.  When  I  used  to 
be  spinning  at  home  and  wanted  to  get  a  great 
deal  done,  and  some  one  would  come  in  and  talk 
to  me,  even  my  feyther,  it  made  me  nervous 
and  the  thread  would  break,  and  I  had  to  stop. 
I  shall  not  be  afraid  of  you  and  I  shall  not 
get  hurt,  is  that  what  you  want  of  me  ?  If  only 
I  could  almost  know  that  you  loved  me  all 
through !" 

Thayer  had  smiled  at  the  spinning  experi- 
ences which  had  put  her  so  thoroughly  en  rap- 
port with  the  artistic  temperament.  At  her  last 
words  he  strained  her  close  to  him. 

"I  think  you  may — almost — know,"  he  said, 
half  wonderingly,  and  Clodah,  laughing  hap- 
pily, did  not  know  that  his  words  were  not  a 
quotation. 

"Well,  that's  all  settled,"  he  said  at  last,  "and 


161 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

we  needn't  ever  again  have  to  talk  over  my 
brutality.  Now  tell  me  about  the  Wizard  man." 

"It  isn't  much  of  a  story,"  Clodah  said  shyly. 
"My  feyther  used  to  tell  it  me  when  I  was  a 
little  girl." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Thayer  comfortably. 
"Little-girl  stories  aren't  to  be  despised,  and  it 
sounds  inviting,  the  Wizard  man  of  Gling-gling 
cave.  Besides,  I  want  to  know  how  I'm  like  him. 
Here,  I  pull  you  up  like  this,  and  you  lie  back 
here  like  this,  and  then  you  put  your  head  like 
this,  and  then  you  tell  me  the  story." 

"Well,"  she  began  slowly  and  shyly,  "once  on 
a  time  there  was  a  man  so  wonderful  that  all 
the  people  on  Eilean  Rohan,  an'  that  was  years 
an'  years  ago,  got  to  calling  him  the  Wizard 
man.  An*  then,  because  he  lived  all  to  himself 
in  a  cave  on  the  shore  over  by  Strathay  Point, 
they  got  to  calling  him  the  Wizard  man  o'  Gling- 
gling  cave.  An'  he  had  a  strange  gift  o'  sight, 
an'  he  could  tell  everybody  all  they  ever  thought 
or  did,  no  matter  whether  he  was  by  or  not.  An* 
people  grew  afraid  o'  him  an'  his  gift  o'  sight. 
Nobody  could  tell  how  he  came  by  it,  either, 
for  once  he'd  been  just  the  same  as  any 
162 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

man  about  there  except  that  he  had  queer  fits 
o'  musing,  and  he'd  go  off  to  the  Isle  o'  the  De'il 
that  sits  away  out  to  sea  and  has  a  veil  an' 
wrapping  o'  mist  about  it  in  storm  or  shine. 

"Ah,  many's  the  Rohan  man  that's  ne'er  come 
back  from  there  when  the  cruel  storms  come  an' 
dash  the  boats  on  the  ragged  reefs  that  hedge 
in  the  isle.  An'  'tis  whispered  in  our  place 
that  the  bodies  o'  all  that  are  lost  in  the  North 
Sea  find  theirsel'es  at  last  about  the  De'il's  Isle." 
All  unconsciously  Clodah  was  speaking  in  the 
tongue  of  her  people  as  she  told  the  Rohan 
legend,  and  her  eyes  began  to  widen  in  their 
peculiar  fashion  as  the  atmosphere  of  the  strange 
tale  grew  on  her. 

"Well,  this  man  that  wasna  a  Wizard  yet, 
he'd  go  and  stay  on  this  isle  that  good  men 
shunned,  an'  didna  hold  no  priest,  an'  he  longed 
to  hae  the  power  o'  knowin'  all  men  an'  all  things. 
An'  the  De'il  told  him  that  first  he'd  hae  to  know 
all  sin  an'  do  a  dreadful  deed.  An'  the  man 
was  a  good  man  as  men  go,  an'  he  didna  want 
to  gi'  up  his  soul  at  first,  for  that  was  what  he 
knew  it  'ud  come  to,  though  the  De'il  spoke  him 
fair  an'  said  he  didna  want  his  soul;  all  he 
163 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

wanted  was  to  gi'  him  great  pleasure.  An' 
finally  he  said  he'd  know  sin;  an'  he  went  to 
far  places,  an'  he  did  all  manner  o'  things  that  he 
didna  dare  confess,  an'  by  an'  by  he  got  so 
he  never  went  to  a  priest,  an'  he  began  to  see 
the  face  o'  Heaven  was  turned  from  him.  An' 
then  he  got  frightened,  for  he'd  been  a  good  man 
once,  an'  he  hadna  wanted  to  gi'  up  his  soul  for 
good,  an'  so  he  went  in  churches,  an'  the  priests 
'ud  stop  their  prayers,  an'  the  good  people  'ud 
shrink  from  him,  an'  he  was  in  sore  despair. 
Then  finally  he  was  mad  wi'  all  he'd  done,  an' 
he  went  back  on  the  fastest  ship  he  could  get 
to  the  Isle  o'  the  De'il.  Then  he  tried  to  get 
rid  o'  his  sin,  an'  the  De'il  laughed  at  him  an' 
said  that  naebody  in  Heaven  or  earth  could  take 
away  the  memory  o'  sin,  an'  that  was  all  o'  sin 
that  mattered.  An'  wi'  all  the  taunts  and  sneers 
the  man  grew  wild,  an'  he  said  as  long  as  he'd 
gone  a  part  o'  the  road  he'd  go  it  all,  an'  he 
made  ready  to  do  the  great  sin  the  De'il  told 
him  he'd  hae  to  do  before  he  could  read  the 
secrets  o'  men's  hearts. 

"An'  the  sin  was  to  get  a  young  maid  an*  keep 
her  in  the  cave,  an'  she  must  be  wi'out  sin  an' 
164 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

full  o'  piety,  an'  from  the  beating  o'  her  heart  he 
was  to  learn  all  that  he  longed  to  know.  An'  so 
he  found  a  maid  that  was  such  a  one, — 'twas  one 
he'd  known  from  her  childhood,  the  lass  o'  his 
dearest  friend, — an'  he  took  her  away  wi'  him, 
an'  no  man  knew  where  she'd  gone.  An'  as  time 
went  on  he  grew  harder  an'  crueler,  an'  he  put 
her  through  strange  tortures  to  get  at  the  secrets 
he  wanted  to  know,  an'  sometimes  her  moans  'ud 
sound  straight  across  the  sea,  an'  the  sailors  'ud 
cross  their  breasts  at  the  sad  sound,  an' 
no  one  knew  what  it  meant  an'  all  thought 
it  was  a  portending  wind.  For  she  knew 
she  was  being  used  for  sin,  an'  she  was 
sore  hurt,  for  her  heart  was  wi'  the  love 
o'  God.  But  she  couldna  help  hersel'.  An* 
his  power  grew  till  all  men  shrank  from  him 
in  fear  an'  terror,  for  he  could  read  their  hearts 
as  if  their  thoughts  were  printed  out,  an'  he 
came  to  use  his  knowledge  in  an  evil  way.  He 
set  feyther  against  son,  an'  husband  against 
wife,  an'  all  the  land  was  in  great  distress  for 
the  evil  that  was  being  wrought. 

"An'  then  at  last,"  the  girl's  eyes  darkened 
and  her  voice  was  full  of  awe,  "the  people  that 
165 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

lived  then,  they  got  wrought  up  till  at  last  they 
made  an  army  of  them  all  together,  an'  they  went 
to  the  cave  where  he  was  dwelling.  An'  he  was  in 
the  midst  o'  one  o'  his  mysteries  an'  so  close 
held  that  he  didna  use  the  sight  he  might  hae 
used  to  tell  him  that  his  enemies  were  coming. 
An'  so  they  were  on  him  before  he  was  aware. 
An'  they  found  him  wi'  the  maid.  Then  they 
knew  it  was  her  moans  that  had  guided  them, 
an'  they  thought  all  the  time  they  were  coming 
that  it  was  the  sighing  o'  a  dreadful  wind. 

"An'  when  the  maid  saw  her  feyther  an' 
brothers  she  knew  the  sign  o'  her  release,  but 
'twas  the  release  o'  death.  For  God  took  the 
breath  out  o'  her  poor  body  right  then  and 
there.  Then  her  feyther  rushed  on  the  Wizard 
to  kill  him,  but  the  face  o'  him  stopped  the  up- 
lifted arm.  For  he  was  staring  at  the  dead  body 
o'  the  girl  like  a  lost  soul  looks  on  a  saved  one. 
An'  the  feyther  saw  it  was  a  greater  punishing 
to  let  him  live  on  wi'  his  regret.  So  they  went 
away. 

"An'  some  say  one  way  an'  some  say  another, 
but  at  any  rate  the  Wizard  man  o'  Gling-gling 
cave  disappeared  that  night.  Some  say  he  went 
166 


to  live  wi'  the  De'il,  that  the  De'il  came  an' 
dragged  him  away  and  said  his  soul  belonged  to 
him ;  an'  others  say  that  he  flung  himself  into  the 
raging  o'  the  sea  that  night  after  he  had  tor- 
tured himself  in  penance  for  his  crime.  But 
never  a  priest  could  there  be  found  who  'ud  say 
a  prayer  for  the  repose  o'  his  soul,  an'  ever 
since  that  time  there's  the  sound  o'  moaning  an' 
the  cry  o'  a  tortured  soul  in  Gling-gling  cave 
that  didna  die  down  in  the  death  o'  the  maid." 

Thayer  had  listened  in  a  fever  of  fascination 
to  the  simple  story  so  simply  told,  that  held 
within  it  all  the  folk-wisdom  that  is  beyond  that 
of  philosophies  and  creeds. 

"Do  you  believe  all  that,  Clodah?"  he  asked 
softly. 

She  stirred  a  little  restlessly  in  his  arms. 

"I  dinna  think  that  I  do  believe  it  all,"  she  said 
at  length,  "though  there's  many  o'  my  people 
that  do.  But  I  believe  there's  a  lesson  in  it  like's 
in  the  parables  o'  Christ.  My  feyther  showed  it 
to  me,  an'  I've  thought  on  it  many  a  time  sitting 
on  Red  Rock  when  the  sea  was  roaring  an'  the 
strange  sounds  that  come  across  the  water  were 
sounding  in  my  ears." 

167 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

"What  is  the  teaching?"  Thayer  asked. 

"I  dinna  need  to  tell  you  that,"  she  replied 
simply  with  an  accent  that  told  her  adoring 
thought. 

"Tell  me,"  Thayer  persisted  gently. 

"My  feyther  showed  it  to  me,  that  whether 
there  was  truth  or  legend  in  the  tale,  there  was 
a  lesson  for  every  one  that  heard  it,  that  too 
much  thinking  on  evil  things  leads  one  to  evil 
deeds,  an'  that  no  man  is  strong  enough  to  stand 
before  evil  to  learn  it,  for  he  has  to  take  some 
o'  it  into  his  heart.  An5  that  evil  desire  leads 
him  to  take  others  into  sin  an'  shame,  an'  that 
there's  no  thing  on  earth  to  be  desired  good 
enough  to  need  the  sacrifice  o'  a  living  soul." 

Her  eyes  had  long  since  turned  from  the 
window  embrasure  and  had  fastened  themselves 
on  something  tall  and  black  and  grinning  at 
the  far  end  of  the  great  long  room.  She  sat 
upright  with  an  excited  laugh;  then  she  sprang 
swiftly  out  of  Thayer's  grasp  and  ran  down 
the  length  of  the  studio.  When  Thayer  reached 
her  she  was  crouching  with  a  half  scared  look 
in  her  eyes  at  the  foot  of  the  black  marble  pillar. 

"Isna  't  queer !"  she  cried  excitedly.  "All  the 
168 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

time  I  was  telling  the  story  I  was  staring  into 
the  face  o'  that  thing  up  there."  She  pointed 
to  the  heavy  carving  that  crowned  the  top.  "It 
was  smiling  like  the  Wizard  man  o'  Gling-gling 
cave.  Some  queer  way  when  I  come  in  here, 
or  get  to  telling  you  my  silly  tales  I  look  on 
it  while  I'm  speaking.  Isna  things  queer !" 

Thayer  did  not  smile  the  sarcastic  smile  that 
had  come  to  his  lips  a  few  evenings  before  when 
the  girl  had  spoken  almost  the  same  words.  His 
hands  clenched  themselves  nervously,  and  a  heavy 
frown  spread  over  his  face.  Then  he  bent  down 
and  lifted  her  up. 

"Yes,"  he  said  with  a  curious  regret,  "things 
are  queer.  Don't  talk  about  it  any  more." 


169 


When  Mrs.  Davenport  received  Thayer's 
singular  and  unconventional  announcement  of 
his  marriage  she  experienced  an  hour  of  still, 
cold  rage.  That  some  audacious  recklessness 
had  flashed  into  his  mind  on  that  last  afternoon 
of  theirs  together  she  had  well  known;  but 
that  the  desire  would  spend  itself,  or  fail- 
ing that,  that  the  islanders  would  keep 
their  own,  she  had  not  held  the  faintest  doubt. 
That  Thayer's  desire  was  so  deep-seated  as 
to  induce  him  to  contract  a  marriage  solely 
for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  a  suitable  model 
she  had  never  dreamed,  and  would  never  have 
believed  without  the  evidence  of  his  madness 
there  before  her.  In  all  her  premonitions 
and  fears  of  disaster  that  she  carried  with  her 
from  England,  marriage  was  something  she  had 
not  counted  upon. 

She  blamed  herself  furiously,  needlessly,  for 
170 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

everything  that  had  happened.  Her  husband 
had  been  that  people's  guest,  had  lived  with 
them,  and  had  loved  them.  By  his  heroic  rescue 
of  The  Rohan's  son  he  had  brought  upon  the 
simple  people  a  debt  of  gratitude  and  hospitality 
to  him  and  his  that  generations  would  not  wipe 
out. 

Then  she  had  come  along,  she,  the  wife  of  the 
man  they  revered,  and  she  had  made  up  her  wil- 
ful mind  that,  being  weary  of  all  that  England 
and  the  continent  had  to  offer  her,  she  would  take 
a  yachting  tour  on  the  North  Sea,  and  would  in- 
cidentally touch  upon  that  strange  shore  con- 
cerning which  she  had  been  more  or  less  curious 
ever  since  her  husband's  return  with  his  tales  of 
its  silent  people,  its  uncrowned  king.  So  she 
had  carried  out  her  plans,  and  she  had  brought 
with  her,  besides  a  number  of  insignificant  crea- 
tures, a  man  whose  dangerous  personality  was 
sufficient  to  wreck  cities  did  he  so  choose  to  exert 
it.  She  had  deliberately  brought  him  there,  had 
dared  to  let  him  walk  and  talk  with  the  daughter 
of  the  man  whom  her  husband  honored  above  all 
men  he  had  known. 

And,  as  if  this  were  not  enough  to  urge  on 
171 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

crime  and  sorrow — surely  Fate  is  more  powerful 
than  humanity!  that  the  child  should  look  like 
her ;  that  Thayer  should  have  dared  to  ask  of  her 
friendship  what  he  had ;  that  she  should  have  re- 
minded him,  innocently,  to  be  sure,  but  none  the 
less  clearly,  of  what  had  completely  slipped  his 
mind,  of  that  island  and  that  summer  day ;  that 
he  should  have  been  seized  with  some  madness  of 
the  gods  which  resulted  in  this  crime ! 

She  flung  the  letter  from  her  and  began 
to  pace  up  and  down  her  room.  What  should 
she  do?  Everything!  What  could  she  do? 
Nothing !  The  English  law  provided  in  entirety 
for  matrimonial  possession.  The  child,  the  in- 
nocent child!  In  spite  of  her  anger  something 
at  last  of  the  respect  he  had  foretold  began  to 
rise  within  her  for  his  ability,  his  power  of 
execution.  How  had  he  compassed  it, — not  the 
gaining  of  the  girl's  consent,  that  was  only  too 
easily  understood,  but  the  winning  of  the 
father?  She  recalled  The  Rohan  as  he  had  ap- 
peared, standing  between  Thayer  and  his  daugh- 
ter at  the  moment  of  their  departure  for  their 
boat,  and  her  amazement  grew  over  the  fact  that, 
according  to  Thayer,  it  was  with  her  father's 
172 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

consent  Clodah  had  wedded  him  and  had  gone 
away. 

She  did  not  write  to  Thayer  for  a  week.  When 
she  finally  made  herself  go  to  her  writing  desk 
for  that  specific  purpose,  she  began  her  letter  as 
abruptly  as  the  man  had  done. 

"I  send  my  felicitations  to  you,  my  friend. 
To  Mrs.  Thayer — my  sympathy.  Pray  do  not 
deliver  the  message,  but  keep  it  to  yourself  and 
for  yourself.  Remember  it  the  first  time  she 
vexes  you,  as  she  surely  will,  if  she  has  not  done 
so  already,  by  her  simplicity.  It  will  not  be 
her  fault  that  she  displeases  you,  and  if  you  let 
her  see  she  has  done  so  she  will  not  see  the  reason 
why  for  so  fearful  a  sin,  and  she  will — sin  again. 
My  dear  Kirk,  you  will  perceive  I  am  not  trying 
to  make  the  best  of  this  marriage.  You  need 
a  mondaine — to  be  strictly  accurate,  you  need 
no  one — but  if  marriage  has  an  attraction  so 
great  for  you  that  you  can  not  resist  it,  you  need 
the  most  finished  production  of  an  artificial  age, 
an  orchid  in  rearing  and  culture.  And  with  the 
unwisdom  of  a  child  you  have  reached  out  your 
hand  for  a  mountain  daisy,  merely  because  your 
173 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

eyes  were  weary  with  trying  to  follow  the 
strangenesses  and  the  hybrid  growths  of  the 
flower  of  the  air  and  the  hot-house.  You  will 
find  that  the  daisy  is  easily  traced  out,  that  there 
are  no  complexities  in  its  structure,  that  its  color 
is  white, — a  color  which  dazzles,  but  which  one 
enjoys  only  so  long  as  its  whiteness  is  perfect. 
When  the  first  smirch  comes,  and  remember  it 
comes  from  without,  and  when  the  first  petal  is 
bent  or  broken,  one  grows  weary  of  what  is 
simple  to  weariness  and  no  longer  perfect,  and 
desires  to  toss  it  away.  And  so  long  as  it  is  a 
daisy  I  have  no  fault  to  find.  I  have  trodden 
on  the  flowers  of  the  field  myself.  But  a  human 
soul  I  feel  tender  for,  and  I  confess  to  you,  my 
dear  friend,  I  am  consumed  with  a  great  fear 
for  her  and  for  you.  Do  not  soil  her  whiteness 
any  more  than  the  fearful  laws  of  our  world 
seem  to  require.  Do  not — I  realize  this  is  an  un- 
wise letter.  I  do  not  think  you  will  be  angry 
with  me  for  it,  but  it  will  not  help  you,  nor  will 
it  help  you  to  help  her.  It  is  in  effect  and  mean- 
ing an  "I  told  you  so"  before  the  act.  After 
the  tragedy  occurs  I  shall  never  say  it.  But  I 
shall  perish  with  the  regret  of  my  own  share 
174. 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

in  this  if  I  do  not  say  it  now.  Give  Clodah  all 
the  love  from  me  she  wishes  and  cares  for,  and 
say  to  her  I  am  always  her  friend.  As  I  am 
yours." 

It  was  some  two  weeks  after  his  marriage  that 
Thayer  received  this  letter  whose  unwisdom  was 
clear  and  frankly  confessed.  He  frowned  over 
it  and  flung  it  away,  and  then  picked  it  up  and 
read  it  again  and  laughed.  And  the  frown  and 
the  laugh  alike  were  unpleasant  and  unhealthf  ul. 

"  'The  tragedy,' "  he  mused  with  a  sneer 
about  his  mouth.  His  eyes  grew  dark,  and  he 
stared  unseeingly  out  of  the  window.  Suddenly 
he  flung  up  his  head. 

"I  have  her  face  before  me  constantly.  My 
fingers  tingle  to  get  to  work.  I  have  waited 
patiently  all  these  days.  It  is  the  tidal  moment. 
And  she  has  to  yield." 

He  stood  for  another  moment  in  silence. 
Then  he  shook  his  shoulders  vigorously  and  went 
rapidly  from  the  room. 


175 


After  that  one  serious  talk  of  theirs  in  the 
studio  that  night, — the  only  serious  conversation 
Thayer  had  ever  had  with  her, — Clodah  began 
to  realize  as  never  before  what  an  utter  stranger 
her  husband  was  to  her,  and  to  yearn  with  what 
was  at  times  almost  hopelessness  after  a  greater 
and  more  satisfying  knowledge  of  him  and  all 
that  pertained  to  him.  She  began  to  study  his 
moods.  It  was  a  pitiful  attempt  at  first,  pitiful 
in  its  utter  lack  of  method,  but  nevertheless  pro- 
ductive of  some  good. 

Already  she  had  learned  to  recognize  several 
distinct  harbingers  of  moods  whose  appearance 
meant  to  her  a  quiet  effacing  of  herself  till  the 
spell  had  worn  itself  out.  She  reassured  herself 
with  desperate  cheerfulness  by  recalling  that  he 
had  told  her  that  night  always  to  remember 
he  never  meant  to  hurt  her,  and  she  tried  to 
go  happily  about  her  self-imposed  household 
tasks  during  her  periods  of  voluntary  banish- 
176 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

ment.  She  busied  herself  about  her  fast  in- 
creasing wardrobe,  a  care  that  had  as  yet  been 
delegated  to  no  maid.  She  tried  new  ways  of 
doing  her  hair,  since  she  had  learned  her  hair 
was  Thayer's  pride,  and  in  this  she  was  aided 
by  a  mysterious  man  with  all  sorts  of  ointments 
and  unguents  and  instruments  at  his  command, 
under  whose  fostering  care  her  tresses  had  begun 
to  take  on  a  sheen  and  shimmer  unknown  to 
them  before.  She  was  naturally  a  busy  little 
body,  and  by  great  diligence  she  managed  to 
thrust  aside  much  of  the  loneliness  she  could  not 
help  but  feel. 

Hughes  was  a  great  aid  to  her.  Any  men- 
tion of  Thayer  was  to  him  as  the  smell  of 
powder  to  the  nostrils  of  a  war  horse,  and 
when  he  was  once  for  all  assured  that  his  new 
mistress  not  only  permitted  it  but  was  delighted 
to  hear  any  and  every  detail  relating  to  the 
master  whom  he  loved,  Hughes  promptly  ab- 
dicated the  footsteps  of  the  single  throne  he  had 
long  since  erected  to  Thayer,  and  proceeded  to 
put  together  hastily  another  royal  chair  wherein 
he  might  in  his  mind's  eye  see  Clodah  sitting. 
All  the  details  of  Thayer's  babyhood  he  knew, 
177 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

all  his  boyish  pranks.  In  one  quite  criminal  one 
he  confessed  to  having  assisted.  Therefore 
Hughes,  sometimes  unconsciously,  sometimes 
with  the  cunning  of  a  Machiavelli,  was  of  in- 
finite help  in  giving  her  data  whereby  she  might 
better,  though  still  dimly,  understand  the  inner 
life  of  the  man  they  both  worshiped. 

During  the  week  that  followed  the  night  of 
the  studio  talk  Thayer's  abstraction  and  moodi- 
ness  grew  on  him.  He  treated  Clodah  with  kind- 
ness, but  she  felt  that  for  the  time  being  she 
was  put  with  absent  gentleness  quite  out  of  his 
life. 

The  morning  that  Mrs.  Davenport's  letter 
came  Thayer  entered  the  breakfast  room  with  a 
heavy  shade  on  his  brow.  He  swallowed  his  cof- 
fee mechanically,  said  no  word  to  any  one,  and 
left  his  remaining  letters,  and  even  the  morning 
papers,  untouched.  Within  the  shortest  time 
possible  for  the  despatching  of  a  frugal  meal  he 
breakfasted,  and  then  made  instant  escape  to  the 
studio.  In  her  loneliness  Clodah  wandered  down 
through  the  kitchen  and  in  aimless  fashion  out 
to  a  little  back  balcony,  where  she  found  Hughes 
busy  with  some  boots  of  hers  and  Thayer's.  He 
178 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

rose  as  he  saw  her  coming,  but  she  motioned  him 
to  his  work,  and  perched  herself  on  a  window 
ledge  near  by. 

"It's  a  fine  mornin',  ma'am,"  ventured  Hughes 
at  length. 

"Yes,"  Clodah  assented  cheerfully.  "That's 
why  I  came  out  here  to  get  some  fresh  air.  I 
think  Mr.  Thayer  wants  to  work  or  something, 
too." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Hughes  promptly.  "He 
looked  just  that  way  while  he  was  eatin'  nothin' 
at  all." 

"Can  you  tell  that  easily,  Hughes?"  Clodah 
asked  with  wistfulness  and  admiration  mingled. 

Hughes'  ear  was  not  of  Grecian  mold,  but  it 
had  a  fine  faculty  for  the  hearing  of  things  hid- 
den, and  he  caught  all  that  lurked  in  the  young 
wife's  tone,  and  guessed  at  much  more. 

"Why,  Lord  bless  you,  ma'am,"  he  said  sym- 
pathetically, dropping  the  little  walking  shoe  of 
hers  he  was  at  work  on.  "You  see  I've  known 
Master  Kirk  from  the  time  he  could  just  hold 
up  his  head,  and  before,  and  if  I  couldn't  tell 
when  his  torments  come  on  him,  who  could?" 

"Torments !"  repeated  Clodah  wonderingly. 
179 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

Hughes  gave  up  for  the  time  being  all  pre- 
tense of  going  on  with  his  rightful  duties. 

"That's  the  name  for  what  he  has,"  he  said 
firmly.  "Most  generally  I've  noted  they  come 
on  him  when  he's  hard-worked  and  don't  want  to 
be  worried,  because  he's  worried  enough  as  it  is. 
Then  if  things  that  he  does  in  that  room  of  his 
come  out  right  he  comes  out  the  same  way. 
Sometimes  he  can't  seem  to  get  suited,  though, 
and  after  he's  tried  and  tried  till  he's  clear  wore 
out,  then  he  seems  to  get  cruel  like  and  don't 
care  what  he  says  or  does.  I  talked  with  a 
doctor  once  about  him,  ma'am,  once  when  he  was 
awful  sick  of  a  fever,  and  the  doctor  and  me 
had  quite  a  comfortable  talk.  He  found  out  I 
wasn't  tryin'  to  pry,  but  that  I  wanted  to  find 
out  things  so  as  to  know  what  ailed  Master  Kirk 
at  times. 

"As  near  as  I  could  make  out,  ma'am," 
Hughes  leaned  forward  and  spoke  in  a  deprecat- 
ing way,  as  if  to  ward  off  any  ill  results  of  his 
plain  speaking,  "though  I  don't  believe  it  as  it 
sounds  myself  and  told  the  doctor  so,  he  seemed 
to  hang  on  to  it  in  quite  a  positive  way  that 
Master  Kirk  was  mad.  Now  don't  look  so  wilty, 
180 


ma'am,  for  he  went  on  to  say  there  wasn't  no 
great  genius  that  ever  lived  that  wasn't  in  a 
way  insane,  and  that  when  they  was  hard  at 
work,  under  the  spur  of  a  great  thought,  he 
put  it,  they  wasn't  responsible  for  anything, — 
fire,  murder,  or  sudden  death."  Hughes  rolled 
his  last  phrase  over  with  a  decided  relish. 

"But,    Hughes,"    Clodah   cried    indignantly, 
"mad  people  are  dangerous,  and — " 

"It's  this  way,  ma'am,"  Hughes  explained 
soothingly.  "Maybe  you  ain't  noted  it  yet,  for 
anybody  with  half  an  eye  to  look  with  can  see 
how  he's  that  took  up  with  you  that  he  ain't 
got  time  for  any  of  his  paint-pots  now,  but  it's 
bound  to  come  sooner  or  later,  for  he's  that 
wrapped  up  in  painting,  too.  And  just  as  he's 
got  all  eyes  an'  ears  for  you  now,  he'll  have 
a  mind  for  nothin'  on  earth  but  them  paints  and 
brushes  when  he  once  gets  fairly  started  to  goin' 
again.  You  see,  ma'am,"  Hughes'  voice  became 
quite  tender  and  protecting,  "they  ain't  a  doubt 
but  Master  Kirk's  a  wonderful  genius,  anybody 
with  an  eye  for  paints  can  see  that,  and  that 
was  what  the  doctor  said,  that  genius  was  just 
off  of  insanity.  He  showed  it  mq  this  way. 
181 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

"Everybody's  got  queer  quirks  In  their  brains. 
Some  likes  the  sea  and  some  don't,  and  some 
wants  this  and  some  wants  that,  and  if  all 
them  different  tastes  ain't  controlled  they 
get  to  be  hobbies,  and  the  folks  with  'em 
is  called  queer.  But  with  some  people, 
and  they  ain't  many  of  'em,  their  tastes 
is  wonderful,  like  Master  Kirk's  for  mak- 
ing pictures.  'Them's  the  tastes,'  the  doctor 
said,  'that  ought  to  be  encouraged,  the  feelin' 
for  poetry  an'  paintin'  an'  actin'  an'  all  them 
sort.'  He  said  that  instead  of  these  people  bein' 
cranks  they  was  geniuses,  and  the  reason  was 
because  they  had  given  something  that  was  in 
them  out  to  the  world  and  made  it  better  rather 
than  all  their  friends  unhappy  with  their  fads 
for  nothin'." 

"And  that's  what  he  does,  Hughes,"  said 
Clodah  earnestly. 

Hughes  took  up  the  neglected  shoe.  "To  be 
sure  he  does,"  he  said  heartily.  "They  tell  me 
that  all  over  London  people  know  him,  an'  all 
the  continent.  The  biggest  men  in  the  kingdom 
have  been  here  and  he  with  them,  and  wherever 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

he  was  or  whoever  was  with  him  he  was  the  best 
of  'em  all,  ma'am." 

Clodah's  eyes  shone.  Then  her  face  grew 
serious.  She  bent  forward.  "Hughes,"  she 
murmured,  "tell  me  how  you  act  when  he  gets 
to  thinking  so  hard.  I  never  want  to  bother  him, 
you  know,  and  of  course  I  understand  he  can't 
be  thinking  of  me  all  the  time." 

Hughes  laid  the  poor  shoe  down  once  more,  and 
stared  off  into  space  with  a  somewhat  puzzled 
face.  "I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  to  act, 
ma'am,  for  he  may  be  different  with  you  in 
what  he  says  and  does.  Far  as  I  am  concerned 
I  go  along  and  don't  pay  not  a  drop  of  attention 
to  anything  about  him.  That  is,  I  don't  let  him 
see  I  do.  When  I  get  his  breakfast,  if  he's  in 
one  of  them  spells,  I  see  to  it  there's  a  pile  of 
bread  ready  cut  and  waiting.  You  see  if  it's 
dry  toast  I  bring  in  to  him  he'll  invariably  want 
it  wet,  and  if  it's  wet  toast  he  can't  eat  no  slop, 
and  whether  it's  buttered  or  unbuttered  don't 
make  a  mite  of  difference  to  him,  for  whichever 
it  isn't  that's  what  he  wants.  You  see,  ma'am, 
I  don't  try  to  please  him,  but  I  just  get  things 

183 


WHAT   MANNER   OF    MAN 

ready  to  set  to  work  to  get  him  what  he  wants 
just  as  soon  as  he  sees  what  he  don't  want. 
Sometimes  that's  all  there  is  to  it,  and  he'll  just 
sit  there  and  not  eat  anything,  and  stare  off 
with  an  ache  in  his  eyes  and  heart  that  puts  a 
worse  one  in  mine.  It's  most  worse  when  he's 
silent  than  when  he  rages. 

"Sometimes  he  does  say  awful  things.  Some- 
times he  turns  on  me  and  talks  against  me  and 
laughs  at  me  and  my  ignorance,  and  all  the 
time  above  the  sneers  and  the  dreadful  laugh 
I  can  see  the  everlastin'  ache  in  his  eyes,  and  I 
know  that  he's  more  miserable  than  he  could  ever 
make  me,  no  matter  what  he  says  tryin'  to. 
Sometimes  that  goes  on  for  days  and  nights,  and 
all  I  can  do  is  to  watch  over  him  and  somehow 
get  him  to  eat  something  or  other,  and  take  care 
of  him  till  the  evil  temper  works  out. 

"The  doctor  told  me  it  wasn't  a  devil  in  him, 
ma'am.  That  had  been  what  I'd  thought  it  was 
before.  He  said  that  people  like  him  could  see 
clear  into  the  wonders  o'  things  that  ain't  on 
earth,  and  that  too  often  when  their  clearest 
sight  came,  and  they  saw  everything  that  was 
lovely,  and  then  had  to  find  out  that  the  best  they 
184 


could  do  was  so  everlastin'  short,  they  got  clear 
maddened  with  the  failure  that  nobody  else  could 
see,  and  that  makes  them  do  what  they  do." 

"And  can  you  always  keep  from  showing  you 
are  hurt,  Hughes?"  she  asked  wistfully. 

"Always  try  to,  ma'am,"  said  Hughes  cheer- 
fully, "for  I  know  he  doesn't  mean  it  at  all. 
Why,  ma'am,  after  a  spell's  wore  itself  out  and 
he's  through  with  the  fever  for  a  while,  I  can  al- 
ways tell  it  by  the  way  he  comes  out  to  me.  'Get 
me  some  dinner  to-night,'  he'll  say.  'Dinner  for 
two,  Hughes.  I'm  that  hungry  I  could  eat  you.' 
'All  right,  sir,'  I'll  say  cheerful  as  I  can,  and 
without  takin'  no  notice  of  anything.  And  then 
more  often  than  not  he'll  come  over  to  me  and 
put  his  arm  round  my  shoulders,  and  give  me 
a  little  shake  or  something,  and  he'll  say,  'Well, 
Hughes,'  and  look  at  me  with  his  eyes  that  look 
hollow  and  burned  out  with  all  their  sparkle,  and 
then's  the  time  I'm  apt  to  make  a  fool  of  myself, 
ma'am.  He  always  goes  off  laughin'  then  and 
says  somethin'  back  over  his  shoulder,  and  I  tend 
to  my  work  and  praise  God  that  it's  over  and 
well  over  for  another  time. 

"You  see,"  he  added  softly  after  a  pause  that 
185 


WHAT   MANNER   OF    MAN 

had  lasted  well  into  the  minutes,  "it  takes  people 
that  care  for  him  and  love  him  better  than  their- 
selves  to  be  about  him.  There's  things  that's 
hard,  that  is  they  might  be  if  any  one  didn't  care 
for  him,  but  there's  that  about  him  and  it  that 
pays.  You  see,"  he  broke  off,  fearful  through 
his  knowledge  of  his  hidden  thought  that  he  had 
said  too  much  to  the  wife  of  his  master,  "I  knew 
him  when  he  was  a  tiny  babe,  and — " 

Clodah  had  been  looking  off  into  the  blue  of 
the  sky  with  a  rapt  look  in  her  eyes  that  had 
awed  the  man  before  her.  His  last  sentence 
brought  her  back  to  him.  She  laughed  sud- 
denly, gleefully. 

"Was  he  a  nice  little  baby,  Hughes?" 
"That  he  was,  ma'am,"  Hughes  replied  ear- 
nestly. "He  was  that  big  for  his  age,  and  the 
bonniest  eyes  and  curls,  and  strong — why, 
ma'am,  when  he  was  only  four  weeks  old  they'd 
laid  him  down  on  his  little  stummick  and  he 
didn't  want  to  lay  there,  and  instead  of  cryin' 
like  an  ordinary  child  he  raised  himself  up  on 
his  little  hands  and  looked  about  him  with  his 
head  and  shoulders  straight  up  in  the  air  for 
all  the  world  like  an  old  mud  turtle !"  Hughes 
186 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

bent  backward  and  forward  in  mirth,  and  Clo- 
dah's  laugh  rang  out. 

"It  seems  too  funny,  Hughes,  to  think  of  liim 
being  a  little  baby.  Tell  me  some  more." 

Hughes  had  just  made  ready  to  take  an  in- 
ventory of  his  stock  of  reminiscences,  when  a 
shadow  from  the  open  window  fell  on  them  both. 

"Are  you  here,  Clodah?"  Thayer  asked 
quickly.  "Do  you  want  to  help  me  some  this 
morning?"  She  scrambled  quickly  to  her  feet. 

"Is  it  a  picture  you're  painting?"  she  asked. 
"Is  it  me  standing  by  the  boat?" 

"No,"  with  the  same  quick  imperiousness. 
"It's  another  one." 

He  lifted  her  bodily  through  the  window,  and 
Hughes  watched  them  disappear  in  the  darkness 
of  the  hallway.  A  shadow  from  its  gloom  seemed 
to  fall  on  him  as  he  sat  in  the  sunshine  and 
rubbed  away  at  his  homely  work. 

"It's  on  him  again,"  he  murmured  to  himself. 
"I  can  see  it  in  his  eye  and  hear  it  in  his  voice. 
He's  nervous  and  wore  out  with  the  workin'  of 
it  in  him,  and  now  it's  comin'  out,  and  God  help 
the  child  that's  his  wife." 

187 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

But  Clodah,  all  unseeing,  was  running  gaily 
along  the  corridor. 

"Shall  I  put  on  my  red  frock?"  she  called  as 
she  reached  her  room. 

Thayer  caught  up  with  her. 

"No,"  he  said,  softly,  "it  is  another  thing 
entirely,  and  you  will  do  what  I  ask,  Clodah? 
On  your  bed  you  will  find  that  long  cloak  that 
came  home  the  other  day.  I  want  you  to  wrap 
yourself  in  that — and  nothing  more — and  come 
up  to  the  studio  as  soon  as  you  can." 

There  was  a  silence,  at  first  of  incomprehen- 
sion, then  of  slow-dawning  intelligence.  He 
looked  into  her  eyes  and  the  flash  of  superb  re- 
sentment and  white-heat  anger  there  made  a 
swift  fury  leap  to  life  within  him.  Was  the 
great  impulse  to  work  to  be  denied  now  after 
he  had  waited  so  long  and  so  patiently,  after 
he  had  sacrificed  so  much?  The  very  fire  and 
flame  of  a  creative  god  was  burning  fiercely 
within  him  and  refused  to  be  smothered  again 
and  still  revive.  If  it  was  crushed  out  now  it 
would  go  forever.  Then  his  fury  died  down. 
He  must  consider  the  child  before  him  if  he  was 
to  gain  his  end  without  brutality,  and  brutality 
188 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

was  not  pleasant  to  Thayer  in  all  its  naked  ugli- 
ness. 

"You  don't  understand  me,"  he  said  quietly. 
"That  is,  you  understand  at  once  too  little  and 
too  much.  Come  in  here  with  me  for  a  moment, 
and  let  me  tell  you,  dear,  how  you  can  help  me 
now  as  never  before  in  all  your  life.  Come, 
Clodah." 


189 


Within  half  an  hour  Thayer  was  back  in  the 
studio.  He  walked  restlessly  about  moving  all 
sorts  of  properties  hither  and  thither.  A  large 
canvas  stood  in  front  of  a  model's  platform, 
which  had  been  pushed  up  beneath  the  curious- 
ly carved  pillar  that  reared  itself  against 
a  brilliant  background  of  red  and  gold  stuffs. 
The  pillar  was  of  black  marble,  Corinthian  in  de- 
sign, but  topped  with  a  hideously  real  head  of 
a  grinning  satyr.  Thayer  had  run  across  the 
thing  on  the  continent  some  years  before,  and 
had  promptly  taken  the  chance  of  purchase. 

At  last  he  stopped  his  restless  strides  with  a 
suddenness  that  was  ominous.  He  was  growing 
weary,  tired  of  waiting.  He  took  up  some 
brushes  and  made  a  few  strokes  on  the  canvas 
that  were  far  from  aimless  despite  the  distraught 
condition  of  his  mind.  Then  he  put  them  down 
and  looked  almost  savagely  at  the  door.  Surely 
190 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

she  had  had  time  enough.  He  took  a  moment 
or  two  to  wonder  to  himself  at  the  comparative 
ease  of  his  victory.  He  had  put  off  the  crucial 
moment  for  several  days  because  he  feared,  above 
all  things,  a  tumultuous  scene,  and  of  all  things 
natural  or  made  by  art  Thayer  loathed  hysterics 
in  a  woman.  He  took  another  moment  to  con- 
gratulate himself  on  holding  that  vicious  temper 
of  his  in  check  at  a  time  when  it  threatened  to 
rise  and  swell  beyond  all  lawful  bounds. 

It  was  too  exasperating,  when  he  was  so 
strongly  in  the  mood  for  work,  immediate  work, 
that  she  could  not  have  understood,  have  com- 
prehended without  the  need  of  explanation.  He 
rather  marveled  at  himself  when  he  remembered 
how  gentle  he  had  been  with  her.  He  had  ap- 
pealed to  her  love  for  him.  He  had  laid  great 
and  sincere  stress  on  the  fact  that  she  could  give 
him  now  for  his  darling  creation  a  sort  of  help 
no  other  woman  who  could  would  bestow.  He 
told  her  of  the  thrilling  inspiration  she  was  to 
him,  and  he  merged  the  seriousness  of  his  first 
appeal  into  a  half  laughing  mirth  at  her  strange 
sensitiveness.  He  had  been  surprised  beyond  the 
ordinary  when  she  had  suddenly  and  with  her 
191 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

face  still  hidden  from  him  thrown  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"I  hae  tried  to  understan'  things  ever  since 
I  came  away  wi'  you,"  she  had  murmured  breath- 
lessly, "an*  the  things  I  canna  understan'  I  try 
to  be  content  to  leave  be  till  I  grow  wiser." 

Then  she  had  gone  swiftly  over  to  her  dressing 
table,  her  face  very  pale  and  her  eyes  full  of  a 
shrinking  terror,  and  he,  well  knowing  the  vic- 
tory was  his,  had  gone  quietly  from  the  room. 
He  felt  a  sort  of  passing  pity  for  her  evident 
suffering,  but  the  emotion  was  only  momentary. 
Beneath  all  the  really  tender  feeling  he  had  for 
The  Rohan's  daughter  lay  his  passionate  desire 
to  use  the  flaming  moment  regardless  of  what 
tender  spirit  this  fierce  desire  scorched  and 
blackened. 

Suddenly  the  door  behind  him  clicked  sharply. 
He  started  and  wheeled  swiftly  about.  Clodah 
had  entered  and  was  closing  the  door  behind  her. 
For  one  long  moment  she  stood  still  and  rigid 
as  if  the  power  to  move  were  no  longer  in  her. 
A  long  rose-colored  cloak  fell  in  rich  folds  about 
her.  The  wide,  drooping  sleeves  swept  almost 
to  the  floor.  Beneath  the  lace  ruffles  her  little 
192 


hands  gripped  the  heavy  brocade  with  a  wild 
tension  she  did  not  know. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  fell  on  the  platform,  on  the 
pillar,  on  the  grinning  satyr's  head.  She  closed 
them  involuntarily  against  the  sight  of  the  car- 
ved figure  which  from  the  first  had  affected  her 
so  strangely.  Not  so  quickly  but  that  she  real- 
ized the  familiar  stand  was  rolled  just  beneath 
it.  Her  eyes  opened  again,  widening  with  a  hor- 
ror that  was  sickening.  Then  she  drew  a  sharp 
little  breath,  and  as  if  it  had  quickened  her, 
with  her  face  white  and  set,  her  bright  hair  flow- 
ing free  as  Thayer  had  told  her  to  leave  it,  and 
the  gorgeous  brocade  making  a  brightness  about 
her  path,  she  moved  quickly  and  with  a  distinct 
dignity  down  the  room  and  stepped  lightly  on 
the  platform. 

From  the  first  Thayer  had  been  watching  her 
with  an  admiration  that  was  almost  awe.  For 
the  first  time  there  came  to  him  a  dawning  reali- 
zation of  the  love  she  bore  him,  a  love  which 
might  endure  death  and  that  which  passed  the 
pangs  of  death.  As  she  turned  and  faced  him 
he  saw  her  eyes  glance  quickly  from  his  face  to 
the  door  beyond  him.  With  an  intuitive  knowl- 
193 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

edge  of  what  had  brought  the  hunted  look  into 
them,  he  went  over  to  the  door  and  drew  the 
bolts  fast.  When  he  turned  to  her  again  the 
long  cloak  was  lying  in  rosy  ripples  on  the  floor 
about  her  feet. 


If 

For  two  weeks  Thayer  worked  dally  on  his 
painting.  Every  morning  after  breakfast  he 
would  go  up  to  the  studio,  where  Clodah 
would  shortly  follow  him,  and  he  would  work 
feverishly  till  some  latent  spirit  of  humanity 
that  stayed  by  him  in  all  his  excitement  made 
him  remember  his  little  model  and  her  exceeding 
weariness.  Then  for  a  few  moments  she  would 
descend  from  her  place  and,  wrapped  in  her 
cloak,  would  come  over  to  the  canvas  and  look  in 
puzzled  wonder  wherein  was  blended  a  little  pain 
at  the  painting  which  she  could  fairly  see  grow 
from  day  to  day.  After  the  first  few  days  of 
her  new  modelship  she  lost  the  terror,  much  of 
the  pain,  and  a  little  of  the  shyness  that  made 
her  first  poses  a  torture  to  her.  Thayer  taught 
her  a  few  simple  exercises  whereby  she  might 
relieve  her  muscles  from  the  cramp  of  their  hard, 
distorted  pose,  and  she  would  go  through  with 
them  at  her  rest  periods  with  an  earnestness  and 
195 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

singleness  of  purpose  that  mightily  amused  him, 
though  he  carefully  concealed  it  from  her. 

Clodah  puzzled  greatly  over  the  composition  of 
the  painting  wherein  she  figured.  In  the  un- 
finished background  was  a  half-circle  of  seats 
filled  with  a  mass  of  queerly  draped  people.  In 
the  center  of  the  half -circle  was  a  box  gorgeously 
draped  in  red  and  gold.  It  was  raised  from  the 
arena  beneath  it  by  a  series  of  pillars,  black,  and 
with  carved  heads  like  the  one  in  Thayer's  stu- 
dio. At  some  distance  from  the  box  stood  a 
row  of  similar  pillars.  These  held  the  fore- 
ground, and  to  one  of  them  she  was  bound  by 
heavy  chains.  On  her  right  and  left  stood  a 
group  of  soldiers  with  massive  shields  and  lances. 
One  of  them,  the  only  figure  that  approached 
completion,  held  aloft  a  winning  die  and  was 
turning  with  outstretched  hand  toward  the  girl. 
This  was  all  she  read  in  the  confusion  of  sketch 
and  color  tests,  and  she  wondered  at  its  mean- 
ing and  the  story  that  it  held. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  Thayer  asked  her  one  morn- 
ing as  she  was  standing  before  it  during  a  rest- 
ing time. 

She  looked  up  at  him  doubtfully.  "I  don't 
196 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

know,"  she  confessed  honestly.  "I  don't  under- 
stand what  it  means.  I  think  it's  awful  she 
should  be  there — so.  I  don't  know  what  it 
means." 

Thayer  laughed.  "Did  you  never  hear  of 
Nero,  Clodah?" 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "I've  told  you  I 
be  not  learned,"  she  said  wistfully. 

He  touched  her  cheek  lightly.  "Did  you  ever 
see  a  learned  woman,  Clodah?" 

She  shook  her  head  again  with  a  deep  regret 
that  sent  Thayer  off  into  a  fresh  laugh. 

"You  shouldn't  miss  the  sight,"  he  said  teas- 
ingly.  "I'll  show  you  one  sometime,  and  then 
you'll  realize  what  you've  been  missing  all  your 
life — and  hate  me  ever  after." 

It  was  one  of  his  many  speeches  that  she  did 
not  understand,  and  she  only  shook  her  head  all 
to  herself.  At  last  she  allowed  herself  a  ques- 
tion. 

"Isn't  Mrs.  Davenport  a  learned  woman?" 

"Oh,"  returned  Thayer  carelessly,  "she's  an 
altogether  different  sort,  you  know.     Yes,  she's 
learned ;  that  is,  she  knows  a  lot  here  and  there, 
but  she's  not  a  type  of  your  blue-stocking." 
197 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

"Blue  stocking!"  Clodah  wrinkled  up  her 
forehead  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  catch  the  mean- 
ing of  that  term,  but  Thayer  did  not  help  her, 
and  after  giving  up  the  word  as  another  mys- 
tery she  turned  again  to  the  painting. 

"Who  was  Nero?"  she  ventured. 

Thayer  had  gone  off  into  a  brown  study,  but 
her  question  roused  him. 

"Nero?"  he  repeated.  "Oh,  he  was  a  bad  sort 
all  around.  He  was  a  Roman  king,  you  know, 
and  he  was  on  deck  when  the  early  Christians 
began  to  make  themselves  known."  Thayer 
stopped  to  laugh,  wholly  to  himself.  A  wild 
caprice  swayed  him,  and  he  let  a  whimsical  fancy 
lead  him  recklessly  on.  "Their  religion  was  a 
new  one,  then,  you  see — one  which  displeased 
some  Roman  gentlemen,  and  bored  others,  and 
made  others  smile.  Now  in  the  course  of  human 
events  and  Nero's  actions  it  became  necessary 
for  that  gentleman  to  put  the  blame  for  a  num- 
ber of  things  that  had  been  going  wrong  on  to 
somebody's  shoulders,  and  when  the  apprehen- 
sion that  he  was  going  to  be  the  mark  for  the 
lightning  became  a  well  founded  one,  he  d<r 
cided  to  take  the  essence  of  some  modern  pv* 
198 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

gillstic  advice,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  hit  first 
and  hit  hard.  In  consequence  he  told  all  his 
friends  and  subjects  that  the  Christians  were  the 
ones  who  had  been  cutting  up  the  recent  didoes, 
and  that  if  the  state  of  Rome  wanted  to  stay 
present  much  longer  the  disturbing  element 
had  better  be  removed.  Then  he  found  he'd 
have  to  go  further  than  he'd  reckoned  on  to  save 
his  skin,  but  he  was  dead  grit  to  the  last,  so  he 
got  up  a  lot  of  games  and  things,  and  began 
putting  Christians  to  death.  He  built  this" — 
Thayer  swept  a  brush  about  the  semi-circle  in 
the  background — "and  got  a  lot  of  wild  animals 
caged  up  there,  and  turned  them  loose  down  here, 
and  drove  the  Christians  out  here  in  herds,  and 
let  the  wild  things  tear  them  up." 

Clodah  looked  horrified.  "But  what's  that?" 
she  breathed. 

Thayer  smiled  a  little  grimly.  "You  want 
the  point,  do  you?  Well,  by  and  by  Nero 
found  out  the  Christians  wouldn't  fight  the  ani- 
mals, and  simply  because  of  religious  scruples 
let  themselves  be  chewed  up.  So  he  decided 
that  if  they  didn't  mind  being  slaughtered  to 
make  a  Roman  holiday,  he  would  give  some  of 
199 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

them  something  that  they  would  mind.  And 
this  is  one  thing,"  he  finished  abruptly. 

Clodah  looked  at  the  pictured  scene  with  great 
shrinking,  while  Thayer  looked  at  her  with  a 
queer  gleam  in  his  eyes.  Suddenly  she  glanced 
up  at  him  with  a  warm  flush  on  her  face,  but  a 
brave  question  in  her  eyes. 

"Ask  it,"  he  said,  large  encouragement  in  his 
tone. 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  she  said  slowly,  " — of 
course  I  can't  tell  things  when  they're  right  or 
wrong,  things  like  this — but  it  seems  so  dreadful 
to  paint  out  things  that  hurt  a  body  so  to  look 
at."  She  put  her  hands  to  her  heart  with  a  sim- 
ple little  gesture.  "It  must  'a  been  awful  for 
her,"  she  breathed. 

Thayer,  watching  her  closely  with  all  the 
fascination  that  all  unwitting  she  was  able  to 
throw  at  times  about  him,  saw  that  she  caught 
but  a  small  part  of  the  awfulness,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment he  was  almost  impelled  to  thrust  Nero's 
cruelty  before  her  in  all  its  exquisite  refinement. 
It  was  an  impulse  pushed  away  as  soon  as  it 
came  to  him,  but  he  looked  at  her  with  the 
thought  in  his  eyes,  imagining  how  hers  would 
200 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

widen  with  the  horror  of  a  revelation  whose 
faintest  breath  he  well  knew  had  not  yet  come 
to  her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  answering  the  first  part  of 
her  question,  "it  all  depends  on  how  I  do  it  up, — 
carry  out  the  idea  and  all  that.  If  I  can  make 
her  face  express  what  I  want  it  to  express,  the 
end  will  justify  the  conception — and  the 
means,"  he  added  slowly,  defiantly.  "Come," 
he  went  on  after  an  instant  of  silence,  "scamper 
up  there,  and  get  your  pose  for  just  a  half- 
hour's  work." 

So  Clodah  stood  dreamily  for  half  an  hour, 
her  head  full  of  the  tale  she  had  just  heard,  try- 
ing to  imagine  a  man  cruel  enough  to  do  what 
she  had  caught  from  Thayer's  rendition  this 
Roman  king  had  done.  She  had  to  give  it 
up,  for  her  experience  did  not  hold  for  her  any 
standard  whereby  she  might  judge  him.  But 
with  the  thought  of  the  Christian  maiden  and 
her  sufferings  her  face  grew  so  full  of  pain  and 
woe  that  it  paled  in  sympathy.  For  that  agony 
of  shame,  that  torture  of  the  spirit,  she  had  a 
rule  whereby  to  measure,  even  though  her  tiny 
meter  must  be  multiplied  exceeding  many  times. 
201 


Thayer,  glancing  toward  her  once  with  one  of 
his  quick  looks,  caught  the  expression  on  her 
face,  and  all  unseen  by  her  drank  it  in. 

"If  I  can  but  bring  that  atmosphere  about 
her  when  I  am  ready  for  it,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"I  can  never  regret  my  enforced  change  of 
models.  Is  there  anything  on  earth  that  could 
bring  such  a  look  to  Hilda's  face?"  And  he 
painted  rapidly  with  a  smile  on  his  face  and  a 
perfect  satisfaction  in  his  heart.  When  noon 
came  he  swung  Clodah  down  and  kissed  her 
warmly. 

"You  are  perfect!"  he  said  gladly  as  he 
wound  her  draperies  closely  about  her.  "You 
are  going  to  make  for  me  what  I  feel  within  me 
is  going  to  be  the  great  success  of  my  life. 
Without  you  I  could  not  have  accomplished  it." 

And  as  they  went  downstairs  together  Clodah 
was  content. 


202 


Over  in  Russia  Hilda  Davenport  was  delib- 
erately worrying.  Some  shadow  hung  over  her, 
some  prescience  of  coming  trouble.  This  whole 
affair  of  Thayer's  marriage  was  so  sudden  and 
swift  that  she  had  been  unable  to  plot  out  cause 
and  effect  in  her  mind  with  any  degree  of  rea- 
sonable clearness.  She  detested  making  a  move 
in  the  dark.  She  had  a  clear,  far-seeing  vision, 
and  she  wanted  an  uninterrupted  view  before  ad- 
vancing a  step  on  any  path. 

Some  things  about  this  iniquitous  marriage 
she  had  understood.  She  knew  Thayer  as  he  did 
not  know  himself.  She  knew  beyond  any  further 
need  of  seeing  it  the  girl's  beautiful  simplicity, 
her  utter  sincerity.  She  knew  that  love  to  such 
a  nature  whose  whole  enveloping  environment 
had  been  single-stranded  would  mean  heaven  or 
the  blackest  hell.  When  she  thought  of  the  tak- 
ing of  that  simple  soul  into  all  the  complexities 
of  Thayer's  life,  with  all  the  strength  of  her 
203 


WHAT    MANNER    OF   MAN 

brain  and  heart  she  revolted  at  the  heartless 
cruelty  of  it.  What  could  come  of  it  but  dis- 
aster and  woe? 

Thayer  and  Clodah  she  could  read,  and,  read- 
ing, she  trembled  for  the  fate  of  the  girl.  But 
The  Rohan, — there  lay  the  exceeding  mystery. 
How  had  it  come,  she  asked  herself,  her  walls, 
her  belongings  day  after  day ;  how  had  it  come 
that  The  Rohan  could  yield  up  his  daughter 
in  marriage  to  a  man  unknown  to  him,  a  man 
whom  at  first  glance  he  had  instinctively  dis- 
liked? If  the  marriage  had  but  been  delayed ;  if 
Thayer  had  been  put  on  probation;  if  after  a 
fitting  time  had  elapsed  he  had  returned  for  the 
girl — Hilda  smiled  skeptically  at  that  possibil- 
ity— then  she  would  have  been  able  to  explain 
an  unwilling  consent  on  The  Rohan's  part  for 
the  sake  of  the  girl's  happiness. 

But  a  courting,  a  winning,  a  bearing  away,  all 
in  the  space  of  forty-eight  hours,  took  her  breath 
away  when  she  tried  to  imagine  such  a  proceed- 
ing in  connection  with  the  three  principals  in  the 
present  transaction.  She  could  have  persuaded 
herself  that  she  misjudged  the  old  islander, 
had  she  not  rested  her  opinion  of  him  on  one  that 
204 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

she  held  higher ;  and  she  fortified  herself  against 
injustice  to  The  Rohan  by  her  husband's  judg- 
ment of  him. 

Hilda  Davenport  and  her  husband  and  her 
married  life  were  subjects  that  through  two 
London  seasons  had  been  thoroughly  discussed 
by  the  people  of  her  world.  She  was  a  woman 
of  intense  personality,  of  decided  tastes,  pos- 
sessed of  the  energy  and  means  to  gratify  them, 
and  she  was  filled  with  an  indifference  that  was 
sublime  for  all  the  floating  interest  and  inquisi- 
tiveness  that  surrounded  her.  She  cared  not  a 
jot  nor  tittle  for  any  opinion  concerning  her  or 
her  actions  other  than  her  own  personal  one,  and 
wherever  she  went  she  left  the  clear  conviction 
in  the  minds  of  all  who  met  her  that  she  was  a 
woman  who  held  herself  absolutely  untrammeled 
by  the  world  and  its  conventions. 

Her  social  position  was  incontestible,  for  her 
social  sponsors  were  beyond  reproach  and  were 
unaffected  by  the  hum  of  comment  she  aroused. 
Further  than  this  society  knew  nothing  regard- 
ing her. 

Nothing  was  volunteered  concerning  the  ab- 
sent Mr.  Davenport,  though  the  fact  that  he 
205 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

lived  was  established  beyond  a  doubt  by  his  wife's 
unconcerned  manner  of  referring  to  him.  In- 
deed, several  virtuous  matrons  of  Vanity  Fair 
had  felt  themselves  insulted  by  her  entirely  too 
free  and  easy  references  to  the  absent  one.  Mrs. 
Davenport  never  hesitated  to  speak  of  him  when- 
ever she  so  desired,  and  she  frequently  disposed 
of  disputed  questions  with  an  air  that  admitted 
of  no  further  parley  by  appointing  without  vote 
Mr.  Davenport  to  the  position  of  umpire.  It 
was  really  interesting  to  watch  her  nai've  way 
of  quoting  her  husband.  When  she  chose  to 
end  a  discussion  she  always  accomplished  the 
matter  to  perfection  by  murmuring  something 
about  "Mr.  Davenport  always  says — "  and 
there  was  a  conscious  and  hurried  change  of  sub- 
ject. 

Thayer  grew  to  delight  in  her  skill,  and  often 
commented  on  the  perfection  of  manner  with 
which  she  was  wont  to  introduce  into  her  prying 
circle  the  mention  of  a  man,  of  whom  he,  to  do 
her  all  justice,  knew  quite  as  little  as  the  rest 
of  her  world.  Hilda  never  discussed  her  mar- 
riage with  any  one,  even  her  devoted  friends, 

COO 


WHAT   MANNER    OP   MAN 

and  Thayer  was  left  uninformed  along  with  the 
rest. 

"How  you  do  manage  to  stimulate  curiosity 
about  the  great  unknown!"  he  said  to  her  one 
day  early  in  their  friendship.  "It  is  too  amus- 
ing to  watch  these  old  grannies  prick  up  their 
ears  at  the  first  word  relating  to  the  man  they 
would  rather  see  than  any  prince  of  the  blood. 
And  when  you  get  through,  though  you  have 
spoken  in  a  manner  utterly  frank,  you  have  told 
us — nothing."  And  Hilda  did  not  melt  under 
the  half  invitation  to  confidence  which  he  so 
cleverly  held  out. 

But  despite  rumor  and  innuendo,  Mrs.  Dav- 
enport pursued  the  even  tenor  of  her  way.  She 
gained  without  seeking  it  the  favor  of  prince 
and  duke.  Her  friendship  with  Thayer  con- 
tinued and  grew  in  intimacy,  and  for  two  years 
she  had  held  a  high  place  in  the  London  world. 

The  mystery  of  her  marriage  was  more  made 
than  existent.  Hilda  Davenport  was  really  and 
honestly  in  love  with  her  husband,  a  fact  which 
Thayer  discovered  early  in  his  acquaintance 
with  her,  and  which  he  kept  for  her  locked  safe- 
ly in  his  breast. 

207 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

Harold  Davenport  was  what  in  this  age  might 
be  termed  a  private  scientist.  His  love  for  the  life 
sciences  had  developed  at  an  early  age,  and  he 
had  had  every  chance  for  study  and  extended  re- 
search. He  was  a  New  Yorker,  graduated  from 
Columbia  College,  and  afterward  a  student  at 
Munich  and  Leipsic.  He  had  received  several 
flattering  offers  of  lectureships  in  prominent  uni- 
versities, but  he  had  been  firm  in  refusing  them 
all.  He  had  the  love  for  constant  study,  but 
not  under  the  driving  necessity  of  compulsion. 
Then  he  had  early  made  up  his  mind  to  keep 
alive  all  his  vital  desires  and  interests  in  life,  and 
rightly  or  wrongly  he  regarded  scholastic  life  as 
fatal  in  its  tendencies  to  the  preservation  of 
vitality.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  a  Wagner  delv- 
ing among  the  iotas  and  digammas  of  inde- 
cipherable manuscripts  in  a  vain  endeavor  to 
establish  a  system  of  limited  phonetics,  nor  did 
he  wish  to  carry  into  his  independent  researches 
any  such  spirit. 

When  he  was  thirty  years  of  age  he  met  Hilda 
Willoughby,  and  the  sympathy  between  them 
was  instantaneous.  She  was  then  nearly  twenty- 
five  years  old,  and  had  in  her  all  the  qualities 
208 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

which  her  later  life  ripened  so  gorgeously. 
Much  to  his  surprise  and  much  to  hers,  their 
marriage  was  a  thing  accomplished  almost  be- 
fore either  one  had  decided  to  yield  single  life 
with  its  undeniable  blessings.  Yet  the  marriage 
proved  a  strangely  happy  one.  Davenport  was 
a  man  who,  perhaps,  had  never  done  an  uncon- 
ventional thing  in  his  life.  His  wife  had  know- 
ingly never  obeyed  a  social  law.  Yet  the  spirit 
of  tolerance  was  so  generous  in  them  both  that 
their  outer  actions  were  but  differing  expres- 
sions of  the  same  conviction  of  personal  free- 
dom. 

Never  in  the  five  years  of  their  married  life 
had  Davenport  raised  an  ob j  ection,  nor  to  do  him 
full  justice  felt  it,  to  anything  his  wife  might 
desire  to  do.  Each  had  had,  since  their  mar- 
riage rites,  a  share  of  personal  freedom  unfortu- 
nately too  rare  between  husband  and  wife.  Per- 
haps the  secret  of  their  perfect  harmony  lay  here, 
that  each  realized  that  marriage  which  is  not 
vitalized  by  a  sense  of  unhampered  liberty  is 
deadened,  dragged  down  to  the  earth  by  its  own 
weight  of  chains.  At  all  events  neither  had  in 
thought  or  word  ever  attempted  to  restrain  the 
209 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

other,  and  their  union  had  been  an  ideally  happy 
one. 

Then  after  five  years  of  it  a  great  longing 
came  upon  Davenport  to  join  a  party  of  French 
and  German  savants  who  were  going  down  into 
the  southern  seas  to  study  the  marine  life  of 
those  waters  at  first  hand.  The  trip  was  to  be 
from  one  and  one-half  to  two  years  in  duration, 
and  a  woman's  presence  could  not  be  tolerated. 
The  German  frau  and  the  French  madame  were 
to  remain  behind  without  a  question.  What 
then  of  the  American  wife? 

Hilda  swiftly  disposed  of  the  question.  That 
Davenport's  heart  was  bound  up  in  this  quest 
she  did  not  doubt.  That  her  presence  was  an 
impossibility  she  was  keen  enough  to  see.  That 
she  did  not  wish  to  have  the  qualifying  word 
"uxorious"  forced  on  her  husband  she  was  con- 
vinced. So  within  five  minutes  after  he  had 
frankly  told  her  of  the  opportunity  for  him, 
and  had  asked  her  to  consider  the  question  for 
them  both,  her  quick-moving  mind  was  made  up, 
and  her  life  for  two  years  was  planned  out. 

"I  have  always  wanted  to  have  a  good  long 
try  at  London  life,"  she  said  to  him.  "Don't 
810 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

ask  me  why,  my  dear  boy,  for  it  is  the  acme  of 
outward  prudery,  but  here's  my  chance.  Of 
course  I  can't  go  with  you.  Frankly  I  don't 
know  that  I  should  go  if  I  could.  Nature  in 
all  her  stretch  of  space  is  delightful  for  a  little 
while,  but,  dear  me,  two  years  of  it !  However, 
you  must  go,  and  I'll  write  to-night  to  the  Freres 
and  tell  them  I'm  going  to  be  bereaved  for  two 
years,  and  that  it  is  far  from  my  purpose  to  put 
on  weeds!  They  are  all  I  need  to  give  me  the 
open  sesame  to  St.  James ;  and  Mrs.  Davenport, 
I  promise  you,  shall  be  the  rage  of  the  coming 
season." 

So  Davenport  sailed  after  a  farewell  from 
his  wife  that  never  wavered  in  its  smile,  and  she 
went  back  to  the  home  that  made  her  ache 
through  and  through  with  loneliness,  and  packed 
up  her  things,  and  departed  in  haste  for  Eng- 
land. 

Her  prophecy  had  been  fulfilled,  and  she  be- 
came, without  much  effort  on  her  part,  the 
London  rage.  Her  remarkable  beauty,  her  won- 
derful gowns,  her  superb  assurance  and  her  sub- 
tile charm  altogether  floated  her  to  the  top 
wave  of  the  season's  favorites.  That  triumph 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

was  now  past  history,  but  it  had  not  waned  with 
the  opening  of  the  next  society  year. 

She  was  in  Russia  now,  the  guest  of  the  Amer- 
ican ambassador  and  his  wife.  From  the  mo- 
ment of  her  arrival  she  had  resolutely  put  Thay- 
er  in  the  background.  When  his  letter  announc- 
ing the  mad  deed  had  come,  she  partially  con- 
soled herself  in  the  extremely  unwise  letter  she 
sent  him. 

For  four  weeks  longer  she  threw  herself 
with  all  her  might  into  the  gaieties  about 
her.  Then  suddenly  a  message  was  forwarded 
to  her  from  her  London  bankers.  The  savants' 
ship  had  returned  five  months  ahead  of  time. 
Her  husband  was  in  Liverpool.  Her  visit  in 
Russia  was  nearing  its  close.  She  promptly 
canceled  two  engagements  immediately  ahead, 
and  one  day  later  left  for  London. 

Once  upon  the  road,  she  let  the  lurking  ghost 
of  a  month  past  walk  freely.  A  queer  telepathic 
sensation  that  had  come  to  her  often  before  under 
widely  different  circumstances  descended  upon 
her  with  maddening  force.  A  wild  impatience 
to  be  in  London,  to  see  Thayer,  to  see  Clodah, 
made  her  chafe  at  every  stop  of  the  eminently 
212 


safe  train  upon  which  she  traveled.  To  be 
there,  to  be  anywhere  where  there  was  a  chance 
of  doing  what  might  require  execution ! 

All  through  the  long,  tiresome  journey  the 
mad  unrest  held  her.  When  she  reached  Lon- 
don in  the  middle  of  one  afternoon  her  tele- 
pathic impression  that  something  was  happening 
in  the  Thayer  menage  had  become  a  monomania. 
When  she  stood  on  the  station  platform  and  saw 
that  Davenport  had  not  met  her  she  immediately 
concluded  that  he  had  not  reached  the  city  him- 
self, for  she  had  sent  her  train  and  its  hour  of 
arrival  to  his  hotel  address.  Following  out  the 
line  of  action  that  was  the  only  natural  thing  for 
her  to  do  with  all  her  recent  perturbation  on  the 
all-engrossing  subject,  she  took  a  cab  and  gave 
the  man  Thayer's  address. 

During  the  swift  journey  she  leaned  back  with 
her  impatience  growing  upon  her.  The  horses 
crawled,  their  driver  was  asleep,  nothing  would 
bring  her  quickly,  quickly  to  the  two  people  she 
most  desired  to  see !  At  last  the  carriage  halted 
before  Thayer's  home.  She  was  out  and  up  the 
steps  before  the  driver  had  descended  from  his 
seat,  She  pulled  the  bell  impatiently.  Again 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

and  again  she  rang  it.  While  the  last  peal  was 
sounding  through  the  house  the  door  swung 
open,  and  Hughes  stood  before  her.  At  the 
sight  of  his  face  her  composure,  which  had  been 
on  the  verge  of  a  collapse,  returned  to  her  with 
a  rush.  In  the  face  of  any  crisis  Hilda  never 
failed  herself  or  others. 


Toward  the  last  of  the  fortnight's  steady 
work  Thayer  grew  moody  and  irritable.  He 
began  to  feel  the  inspiration  under  which  he 
had  been  so  steadily  working  leaving  him,  and 
he  was  trying  to  force  it  to  remain.  That  his 
growing  feeling  of  lassitude  and  irritation  was 
due  almost  solely  to  physical  depression  he  did 
not  stop  to  consider.  For  two  weeks  he  had 
thrust  aside  every  law  of  regular  living,  and  he 
was  not  yet  ready  to  pay  the  penalty.  For  he 
had  not  yet  reached  the  place  where  he  was  will- 
ing to  make  a  period  in  his  work  and  he  was 
beginning  to  see  that  he  had  delayed  the  greatest 
thing  too  long. 

Thayer  had  found  in  Clodah  all  that  he  could 
desire  in  the  way  of  a  model.  Her  physical 
beauty  was  as  near  perfect  in  entirety  as  could 
well  be,  and  there  was  a  nameless  something 
about  her,  a  subtile  intuition  that  inspired  him 
without  his  being  aware  of  the  graciousness  of 
215 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

it.  The  spirit  of  commercialism  was  in  her 
modelship  eliminated,  and  for  the  special  sub- 
ject for  which  she  was  being  used  just  now  there 
was  peculiar  inspiration  in  her  presence.  Her 
face  had  in  it  all  the  innocence  and  shrinking 
purity  that  could  have  filled  the  soul  of  the 
Christian  maid  for  whom  was  reserved  a  fate 
beyond  that  of  the  crunching  teeth  of  Hibernian 
dogs  or  lions'  jaws. 

Thayer,  with  his  fashion  of  looking  at  things 
from  his  own  standpoint  purely,  could  never 
know  a  tithe  of  the  emotions  that  filled  her  face 
with  a  pain  beyond  utterance,  though  that  same 
standpoint  made  him  thoroughly  alive  to  all  the 
beauty  of  the  soul  so  perfectly  revealing  its 
inner  life.  But  after  a  few  days  the  sense  of 
utter  shame  left  her.  The  spirit  as  well  as  the 
tender  palm  can  be  hardened  by  contact  with 
heavy  things,  and  it  was  only  the  thing  inevita- 
ble that  Clodah  should  grow  accustomed  to  what 
at  first  she  felt  was  beyond  endurance.  She  be- 
gan to  realize  that  her  own  personality  was  for 
him  sunk  in  that  of  the  useful  model  which  he 
was  standing  up  against  a  post  and  painting. 


216 


And  so  by  the  time  he  was  ready  for  the  face 
the  expression  which  had  been  for  him  at  first 
so  great  an  inspiration  was  wanting.  When  he 
finally  began  work  on  it  he  was  worn  out  physi- 
cally and  mentally,  and  for  several  days  he 
painted  in  and  out  with  exasperating  regularity. 
What  had  been  to  him  a  pillar  of  guiding  light 
had  vanished  and  left  him  in  a  mist  peopled  with 
vague  shadows.  In  all  his  physical  weariness 
visual  memory  refused  to  come  to  his  aid.  Some- 
how his  wizard  hand  had  lost  its  cunning. 

It  was  then  that  his  evil  mood  began  to  settle 
on  him.  His  directions  to  Clodah  were  curt  and 
brief.  His  face  grew  heavier  and  more  lower- 
ing. There  was  no  more  merry  talk  together  in 
the  intermissions  of  work;  only  grim,  dull  si- 
lence. Clodah  tried  bravely  to  recall  all  that 
Hughes  had  told  her  of  the  strange  moods  that 
governed  Thayer's  spirit,  and  she  tried  des- 
perately hard  to  understand  him,  and  to  fore- 
stall annoyances.  She  knew  that  he  was  troubled, 
but  how  that  should  incite  him  to  do  and  say 
cruel  things  to  her  and  to  the  devoted  Hughes 
was  beyond  her  understanding. 

217 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

So  far  she  herself  had  escaped  without  much 
more  than  the  dread  atmosphere  about  her,  but 
the  scapegoat  Hughes  had  been  lashed  up  and 
down  many  times,  and  at  such  times  she  trem- 
bled with  a  pitiful  fear.  Before  her  Thayer 
kept  himself  pretty  well  in  check,  but  for  nearly 
a  week  now  she  had  had  not  one  voluntary 
caress,  not  one  that  meant  to  her  anything  more 
than  the  mechanical  performing  of  a  recently 
acquired  habit.  She  began  to  feel  irrepressibly 
lonely,  and  there  was  stealing  over  her  her  first 
fit  of  desperate  homesickness.  She  strove  brave- 
ly to  crush  it  down,  but  the  disease  can  be  con- 
trolled only  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  with  poor 
little  Clodah  the  limit  of  resistance  was  almost 
reached. 

One  morning  the  breakfast  hour  had  been  un- 
bearable. Thayer  had  passed  a  sleepless  night, 
and  his  face  was  more  haggard  and  his  eyes 
more  hollow  than  ever.  Since  midnight  he 
had  been  in  the  studio  before  his  half-finished 
picture,  sunk  in  the  blue-devil  mood  of  abject 
discouragement  in  which  he  indulged  himself 
before  every  one  of  his  paintings  at  just  about 
this  stage  of  its  completion.  Clodah  heard  him 
218 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

go,  and  blessed  the  chance  his  absence  gave  her 
for  tears  so  bitter  that  it  was  wonder  they  failed 
to  give  her  ease.  It  was  only  toward  dawn  that 
she  herself  had  fallen  into  an  unref reshing  slum- 
ber. Thayer  had  to  be  called  for  breakfast, 
and  Hughes  inquired  for  him. 

"Shall  you  call  him  then,  ma'am,?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  you,  Hughes,"  Clodah  made  quick  answer, 
with  a  sad  admission  in  the  swift  response  that 
touched  her  faithful  servitor  to  the  quick. 
When  Thayer  at  last  appeared  he  quickly  lost 
himself  in  the  Times  with  only  a  nod  to  Clodah, 
and  she  poured  his  coffee  and  watched  the  steam 
slowly  settle  on  it  as  it  cooled,  and  then  poured 
out  more  only  to  have  it  meet  with  the  same 
neglected  fate. 

"I'm  going  out  for  a  short  walk,"  Thayer 
volunteered  finally  after  he  had  sat  at  the  table 
long  enough  to  constitute  a  conventional  time, 
and  had  eaten  nothing.  "I  shan't  be  back  for  an 
hour,  but  when  I  come,  for  heaven's  sake,  Clo- 
dah, be  ready.  Don't  keep  me  waiting.  When 
I  want  to  work  I  want  materials  ready." 

She  assented  quietly,  and  watched  him  leave 
the  room  with  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  brought 
219 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

an  oath  against  his  master  to  Hughes'  heart. 
Then  she  went  slowly  up  to  her  room,  all  the 
pretty  life  gone  out  of  her,  and  shut  herself  in. 

"Poor  little  lady!"  Hughes  muttered  as  she 
went  away.  "And  the  mortal  pity  is,  nobody 
can  do  a  thing.  If  she  nor  I  didn't  care  so 
much  it  wouldn't  make  him  be  so,  but  he  knows 
we  both  of  us  care  like  agony;  we  can't  hide  it 
from  him,  and  it's  the  nature  of  him." 

Upstairs  Clodah  had  dropped  on  her  knees 
beside  her  bed.  She  was  almost  past  enduring 
her  present  woe.  Her  pitiful  homesickness  for 
her  father,  her  people,  her  barren  island,  was 
welling  up  within  her  in  a  rising  flood.  Her 
sense  of  mystery  before  the  nature  of  the  man 
she  had  married  had  been  ever  present  with  her 
during  these  last  few  days,  a  mystery  that  had 
steadily  grown  in  intensity  and  gloom.  She 
felt  utterly  alone  in  the  heart  of  a  heartless  city. 
From  her  father  she  had  heard  but  once  since  she 
left  him.  The  letter  had  been  a  characteristic- 
ally reserved  one,  with  nothing  of  the  pent-up 
love  expressed  in  it  that  Clodah  had  voiced  in  her 
closing  cry,  "My  father,  my  father !"  She  had 
early  realized  the  impotence  of  written  words, 
220 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

yet  now  in  her  darkest  hour  there  came  to  her 
an  irresistible  longing  to  get  nearer  to  her  father 
by  that  means  if  no  other. 

In  a  moment  she  rose  and  went  over  to  a  little 
writing  table,  and  sat  down  before  it.  With 
her  pretty  paper,  Thayer's  gift,  spread  out  be- 
fore her  she  began  her  second  letter  home. 

"My  father,"  she  wrote.  At  the  sight  of  the 
words  her  father's  face  rose  so  suddenly,  so  vivid- 
ly before  her  that  it  seemed  to  her  she  was  chok- 
ing with  the  longing  to  see  him.  She  saw  his 
kind  face ;  she  felt  the  clasp  of  his  arm  about  her 
just  before  she  stepped  into  the  boat  that  was  to 
bear  her  away  into  a  life  whose  path  was  hidden 
from  her;  she  heard  his  words  as  he  voiced  his 
fears,  his  forebodings,  his  great  love  for  her 
that  had  made  him  forget  for  her  sake  those 
fears  and  misgivings;  had  made  him  recognize 
her  newly-born  woman's  right  to  choose  for  her- 
self. 

For  the  first  time  her  definite  doubt,  the  doubt 
that  sooner  or  later  comes  to  every  young  wife, 
stole  into  her  mind.  Had  she  chosen  for  her 
good?  Those  fatherly  fears,  had  they  not  been 
right?  He  had  not  known  nor  had  she  what 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

manner  of  man  this  was  who  had  mastered  her 
and  filled  her  with  love  of  him  till  she  was  ready 
at  his  first  word  to  give  up  all  things  else  for 
that  love  of  him.  She  thought  of  her  first  letter 
to  her  father,  of  her  perfect  joy  in  the  writing 
of  it.  She  recalled  sentence  after  sentence, 
every  word  breathing  out  absolute  confidence  in 
the  man  she  had  wedded.  She  looked  down  at 
the  page  before  her :  "My  father : — "  Was  it 
possible  for  her  to  go  on,  possible  for  her  now  to 
write  him  a  letter  that  would  not  give  him  pain 
unutterable? 

She  laid  her  head  down  on  her  hands.  For 
the  present  she  was  past  tears.  Suddenly  she 
took  up  her  pen  and  began  to  write  quickly,  nerv- 
ously. When  she  folded  the  sheet  together  her 
face  was  almost  peaceful. 

"I  hae  been  foolish  to  fear  his  love  be  gone," 
she  murmured  to  herself.  "Else  why,  as  my 
f eyther  said,  should  he  come  the  weary  way  back 
after  a  whole  year  to  get  me  an'  take  me  back 
wi'  him,  to  be  his  wife."  She  threw  up  her 
head,  so  lately  bowed  under  a  weight  of  woe, 
with  a  lovely  pride,  "^or  I  be  his  wife,  an*  no 
man's  else,  an*  I  hae  forgot  all  that  Hughes 
222 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

hae  told  me  about  the  strange  fits  that  come  on 
him.  I  hae  thought  o'  myself  an'  my  loneliness, 
an'  not  o'  him.  When  next  I  get  lonely  I  shall 
say  to  myself  that  my  husband  be  a  great  man, 
an'  that  he  be  too  busy  all  the  time  to  play  wi' 
me  like  a  doll,  an'  I  must  get  to  be  a  woman 
quick,  an'  be  able  to  help  him,  an'  whatever  he 
tells  me  to  do  I  must  do.  I  must  be  happy  this 
morning  instead  o'  sad  as  I  hae  been  to  my 
shame  for  days  past." 

Thus  reminded  of  the  passing  time,  she  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  caught  sight  of  Thayer 
just  ascending  the  steps.  She  began  to  tear 
off  her  clothes  hurriedly,  and  to  unbind  her  hair, 
and  just  as  Thayer  reached  her  corridor  she 
came  out  of  her  room  wrapped  in  her  long  cloak. 
Some  innate  perception  which  her  marriage  was 
developing  made  her  not  show  him  that  she  had 
seen  his  arrival  from  her  window. 

"I  was  just  going  up,"  she  said  with  her  first 
innocent  deception.  Thayer  made  no  reply, 
and  she  flitted  before  him  up  the  long  stairway. 


223 


For  an  hour  Thayer  painted  with  a  mad  per- 
sistence, an  unyielding  stubbornness.  He  was 
working  on  the  face,  and  by  swift  degrees  a 
wild  fury  seized  him  because  of  his  inability  to 
catch  the  lines  he  wanted.  He  worked  nervous- 
ly, he  painted  and  painted  out,  and  scraped  the 
canvas  afresh,  and  began  again,  and  all  to  no 
avail.  At  last  he  flung  down  his  brushes  with  a 
very  demon  raging  within  him  and  swore 
harshly. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about  this  morn- 
ing?" he  demanded.  "Can't  you  take  that  rapt, 
saint  look  off  your  face,  and  look  some  of  the 
shame  you  used  to  feel?  Do  you  suppose  her 
mind  was  full  of  womanish  delights,  her  last 
new  gown,  her  next  ball?  Don't  stare  at  me 
so,  in  heaven's  name.  Come  down  and  rest  a 
little  while,  and  then  see  if  you  can't  get  into 
some  sort  of  sympathy  with  her.  My  God,  you 
ought  to!"  He  laughed  harshly. 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

Clodah  had  been  sitting  before  him  with  a 
very  glory  of  peace  in  her  eyes.  The  strange 
comfort  she  had  gained  from  the  writing  of 
that  tiny  sheetful  had  stayed  with  her.  Some- 
how out  of  the  bitterness  of  the  night  had  come 
a  sweetness  of  rest  and  calm.  She  had  forgotten 
in  those  past  days  of  dread  the  one  great  thing 
in  all  her  swift  courtship,  the  fact  that  Thayer 
had  held  her  close  in  his  heart  through  one  long 
year  of  absence  from  her,  and  had  come  at  last 
through  love  of  her  to  take  her  away.  He  must 
have  loved  her  tenderly,  and  that  one  thing 
granted  Clodah  had  no  other  sorrow.  So  for 
nearly  an  hour  she  had  been  thinking  thoughts 
far  removed  from  her  surroundings.  She  was 
living  over  again  those  days  of  early  marriage. 
Thayer  had  disturbed  her  by  no  directions  what- 
ever and  she  had  been  dreaming  in  peace.  Now 
in  a  flash  all  her  dreams  were  rudely,  brutally 
shattered,  and  she  stared  at  him  in  shrinking 
dismay. 

At  the  dumb  distress  in  her  eyes  Thayer 
turned  away  in  ill-concealed  irritation.  He 
went  over  to  a  distant  window  and  stood  in 
moody  silence  beside  it.  Clodah  was  standing 


WHAT   MANNER    OF    MAN 

with  drooping  head  where  he  had  left  her.  For 
one  black  moment  a  wild  despair  seized  her  in 
an  icy  grip.  Then  mercifully  she  recalled 
Thayer's  own  words  spoken  to  her  that  first  day 
he  had  ever  so  slightly  neglected  her:  "Some- 
times I  say  things,  Clodah,  and  it  gives  me  a 
sort  of  devilish  satisfaction  to  see  people  wince." 
She  recalled  Hughes'  hesitating  counsel.  She 
made  herself  think  again  of  her  father's  words, 
and  then  she  raised  her  head  from  its  bent  low- 
liness. All  that  she  needed  to  make  her  quite 
happy  was  the  assurance  that  her  husband  loved 
her,  and  of  this  she  assured  herself  again  and 
again.  She  glanced  longingly  at  Thayer,  who 
was  still  standing  at  the  window,  his  hands 
thrust  deep  in  his  pockets,  and  his  whole  atti- 
tude full  of  a  great  despair  and  misery.  If  she 
had  felt  free  to  follow  her  loving  impulse  she 
would  have  run  over  to  him  and  slipped  her 
tender  arms  about  his  neck  with  a  sympathy 
whose  only  fault  would  be  that  it  could  not  com- 
prehend. 

But  she  had  learned  among  her  many  les- 
sons of  the  last  few  weeks  not  to  follow  all  of 
her  impulses,  so  she  crushed  back  the  longing 
226 


WHAT    MANNER    OF   MAN 

and  desire,  and  then  there  came  upon  her  like  a 
withering  blight  a  great  realization  of  her  im- 
potence, her  powerlessness  to  help  him.  What 
could  she  do  to  aid  him?  He  had  not  been  satis- 
'fied  that  she  looked  happy.  How  did  he  want 
her  to  look?  He  had  asked  her  if  she  sym- 
pathized with  the  girl  not  at  all. 

She  went  softly  over  to  the  painting  and  stood 
before  it,  staring  at  it  wistfully.  Would  it  tell 
her  nothing?  She  looked  at  the  figures  in  the 
foreground.  Those  of  the  soldiers  had  been  filled 
in  somewhat,  and  the  face  of  one  of  them,  the  one 
who  held  the  winning  die,  had  been  painted  in 
detail.  Clodah  shivered  at  the  expression  of 
his  eyes.  Somehow  as  she  stared  the  bent  and 
tortured  figure  of  the  girl  took  on  a  new  mean- 
ing to  her.  For  the  first  time  a  faint  breath 
of  comprehension  came  to  her  of  the  martyrdom 
meted  out  for  the  bound  figure.  Her  eyes 
widened  with  a  horror  that  was  dim  and  without 
foundation.  It  was  just  at  that  moment  that 
Thayer  turned  from  his  fruitless  window-gazing 
and  came  back  to  her. 

"Get  up  there,"  he  said  abruptly.  "We'll 
try  it  once  more."  She  did  not  move  instantly 


and  he  looked  at  her  with  added  impatience.  On 
that  instant  his  eyes  lighted  up  with  a  blue 
flame.  The  dawn  of  intelligence  was  in  her 
face. 

"Here,"  he  said  quickly,  "get  up  there  before 
you  lose  your  thought."  He  pushed  her  half 
gently,  half  roughly,  across  the  room.  He 
slipped  her  arms  through  the  heavy  hanging 
chains  with  a  queer  little  laugh  that  was  full  of 
subdued  excitement. 

"You  don't  exactly  need  the  chains,"  he  said, 
more  to  himself  than  to  her,  "but  it  may  give 
atmosphere." 

Clodah  Kad  not  looked  at  him ;  had  looked  at 
nothing.  Her  eyes  were  wide  and  staring. 
Suddenly  she  put  out  one  fettered  hand. 

"I  got  an  awful  thought,"  she  muttered 
blankly. 

Thayer  laughed  with  soft  exultation.  "Keep 
it,"  he  said.  All  his  fire  had  miraculously  re- 
turned to  him.  His  blood  was  red  again,  was 
coursing  swiftly  through  his  veins.  After  that 
he  worked  feverishly.  When  he  looked  at  her 
again  he  smiled,  the  smile  of  one  whose  dearest 

228 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

wish  is  granted.  Her  eyes  were  still  open  and 
staring  with  a  blank  horror,  the  horror  that 
had  held  them  ever  since  Thayer  had  pushed  her 
away  from  the  painting. 

Suddenly  she  flung  her  hands  together  in 
appeal.  The  heavy  chains  rang  as  she  clashed 
them  together. 

"I  canna  bear  it,"  she  cried  hoarsely.  "  'Tis 
too  horrible — the  thoughts  I  think.  Kirk !" 

Her  voice  rang  out.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  called  him  by  his  given  name.  He 
glanced  at  her  and  then  at  his  work.  Never 
before  did  he  place  so  many  strokes  with  such 
precision  in  so  short  a  time.  She  cried  again, 
imperiously. 

"It's  all  come  to  me  wi'  the  might  of  a  Rohan 
storm.  'Tis  a  shame  to  me  to  make  me  play 
the  shame  o'  the  girl!  'Tis  a  shame  to  you  to 
paint  her  shame !" 

Another  rapid  glance  he  gave  her,  then  went 
swiftly  on  as  before.  She  saw  that  he  had  not 
heard,  or,  if  hearing,  had  not  heeded.  She 
waited  another  moment;  then  she  sprang  swift- 
ly from  her  place.  The  forgotten  chains  pulled 

229 


her  back.  Thayer  called  to  her  sharply.  While 
she  still  struggled  blindly  he  came  and  lifted  her 
back  bodily. 

Clodah's  first  instinct  toward  Thayer  was  al- 
ways obedience.  In  spirit  she  yielded  to  that 
instinct  now  rather  than  to  her  constraining 
bonds,  for  her  ideas  of  wifehood  were  Paulistic 
in  their  exceeding  primitiveness.  But  the  old 
corroding  shame  that  had  eaten  into  her  very 
soul  came  back  to  her  as  she  stood  there  bound 
less  by  the  chains  that  held  her  than  by  her 
marriage  vows.  Long  had  she  stood  in  igno- 
rance before  the  canvas  of  the  Supreme  Martyr- 
dom. But  she  read  its  story  now. 

Thayer  had  gone  quickly  back  to  his  work. 
His  fever  was  at  such  high  tide  that  the  inter- 
ruption was  not  a  serious  one,  and  its  annoy- 
ance only  momentary.  He  hardly  glanced  at 
her  now,  but  was  plying  his  brushes  with  lips 
pressed  tight  together,  and  a  slow,  dark  flush 
mounting  high  on  his  cheeks. 

Clodah  crouched  against  the  pillar.     She  was 

shivering    convulsively.     Suddenly    she    threw 

back  her  head  in  a  paroxysm  of  emotion,  and 

so  doing  she  saw  above  her  that  hateful  head 

230 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

of  the  grinning  satyr.  The  sight  of  it  seemed 
to  act  as  a  mordant  to  all  her  shifting  ideas  and 
impressions.  Flashes  of  memory  ran  through 
her  brain  like  shining  swords.  Her  first  night 
in  London ;  that  face  that  sneered  and  j  eered  at 
her  while  she  murmured  her  first  daring  confi- 
dence to  her  husband;  her  crouching  before  it; 
Thayer's  answer;  his  words;  his  manner;  it  all 
came  back.  He  had  had  her  pose  for  him  that 
first  night,  had  drawn  her  daily  since;  finally 
had  asked  of  her  this — this!  He  had  wanted 
nothing  of  her  since  their  marriage  but  that  she 
let  him  draw  her,  draw  her,  draw  her!  It  all 
rushed  through  her  brain  in  great  throbbing 
waves.  Trivialities  sprang  up  and  fitted  into 
place  as  links.  Suddenly  she  staggered  to  her 
feet  and  stood  boldly  upright  against  the  pillar. 

"Kirk  Thayer,"  she  muttered,  "I  hae  got  to 
know  somethin'.  Hark  to  me  an'  tell  me.  Why 
did  ye  wed  me?" 

Thayer  heard  the  words  as  from  a  great  dis- 
tance. Their  import  failed  to  strike  him.  His 
brow  contracted,  and  he  shook  his  head  in  an- 
noyance. Clodah's  voice  rose  high  and  shrill. 


231 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

"Why  did  ye  wed  me?"  The  cry  was  insist- 
ent. He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Why  did  I  marry  you?"  he  repeated  absent- 
ly. He  stared  at  the  canvas.  He  turned  to 
Clodah  with  one  of  those  impersonal  glances 
that  at  first  had  filled  her  with  infinite  loneliness, 
but  that  made  her  thrill  now  with  an  anger  that 
was  almost  divine.  He  saw  her  face  aflame 
with  new  feeling,  defiance,  challenge,  demand, 
wrath.  He  frowned.  The  whole  atmosphere 
was  charged  with  new  vibrations,  inharmonious 
and  jarring. 

"Don't,  Clodah,"  he  said  almost  gently.  It 
seemed  full  of  pathos  to  him,  that  this  final  mo- 
ment should  be  so  ill  attuned  to  his  own  mood. 
He  waited  patiently,  but  something  in  her  eyes 
riveted  on  his  made  him  stir  restlessly  at  last, 
and  a  little  gleam  showed  between  his  narrowing 
lids — hardly  a  cruel  light;  rather  the  eager  ex- 
perimentalism  that  shines  in  the  eyes  of  the  scien- 
tist as  he  bends  above  the  animal  bound  and 
quivering  on  the  vivisection  table. 

"Why?"  he  repeated.  He  looked  at  the 
painting  and  then  at  her.  "Why?"  he  said 

232 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

again.  With  one  hand,  white  and  beautiful  and 
cruel,  he  pointed  to  the  painting.  Instantly  he 
turned  to  it  again.  One  swift  stroke,  another — 

Thayer  stood  back.  He  gave  the  canvas  a 
twist  to  the  left,  and  step  by  step  retreating,  he 
drew  nearer  to  the  girl  behind  him.  With 
every  passing  second  a  greater  rapture  thrilled 
him.  With  every  pulsating  throb  his  brain 
sang  to  his  spirit  and  his  spirit  to  his  brain  that 
before  him  was  his  masterpiece,  wrought  out. 

So  rapt  was  he  in  exultation  and  pride  that 
he  knew  no  other  presence.  So  lost  was  he  in 
triumph  that  he  never  glanced  at  the  girl  still 
upright  against  the  pillar.  He  did  not  see  the 
slow  death  agony  that  settled  over  her  face.  He 
did  not  hear  the  low  cry  that  fled  her  lips,  nor 
the  thud  of  her  body  as  it  dropped  without  a 
struggle  at  the  foot  of  her  cross  of  torment. 
Above  her  the  black  satyr  laughed  remorselessly. 
Almost  at  her  side  her  husband  stood,  and  in 
front  of  her,  where  Thayer  had  twisted  it  for 
another  light,  gleamed  the  figure  of  the  Chris- 
tian maid  with  the  look  in  her  eyes  that  had 
widened  Clodah's  during  the  moments  when  her 

233 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

spirit  had  been  blackened  with  the  knowledge 
of  exquisite  sin,  and  her  faith  in  love  and  honor 
and  sincerity  had  died  the  death. 

******* 

Thayer  half  stumbled  over  the  platform  be- 
fore he  caught  sight  of  Clodah  lying  in  a  twist- 
ed little  heap  where  she  had  fallen.  He  bent 
over  mechanically  and  loosed  her  wrists  and 
arms  from  the  brass  chains  that  she  dragged 
down  with  her.  Then  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms 
and  carried  her  over  to  a  low  couch.  He  low- 
ered her  head  and  dashed  a  little  cold  water  over 
her  face.  In  a  few  moments  he  saw  the  flutter 
that  heralds  returning  consciousness.  He  stood 
by  her  till  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  so  lost  was 
he  in  his  own  thoughts  that  he  did  not  notice 
how  she  shrank  from  him  nor  how  the  white 
lids  closed  against  him  as  if  to  shut  him  out. 
His  hands  were  plunged  deep  in  his  pockets 
and  he  was  biting  his  under  lip  nervously. 

"You'd  better  lie  quiet  for  a  few  moments," 
he  said  with  a  sort  of  absent  kindliness  in  his 
tone.  "By  and  by  I'll  carry  you  downstairs 
if  you  aren't  able  to  walk." 

Then  he  left  her  and  went  over  to  the 
234. 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

painting  again  to  stand  before  it,  lost  in 
its  beauty.  What  he  had  wanted  to  express 
was  there,  all  of  it;  a  rigid  tenseness  born 
of  the  resolve  to  suffer  and  to  die  bravely 
for  the  faith;  a  great  shrinking  of  the  deli- 
cate body  from  the  publicity  of  its  shame;  a 
greater  shrinking  of  the  spirit  from  the  shame 
to  come.  He  could  have  kissed  the  color  of  it; 
have  caught  the  painted  stuff  to  his  heart  in  the 
ecstasy  of  his  satisfaction.  That  all  the  other 
figures  were  more  or  less  unfinished  did  not  enter 
into  his  thought.  The  great  stumbling  block 
in  the  way  of  success  had  been  removed  that 
day. 

How  long  he  stood  before  the  canvas  he  never 
knew.  Something  suddenly  reminded  him  of  a 
duty  undone,  and  after  some  moments  burdened 
by  that  consciousness  he  set  to  work  to  find  out 
what  it  was.  He  finally  remembered  Clodah; 
that  she  had  fainted;  that  perhaps  she  needed 
attention.  He  turned  at  last  to  the  couch  where 
he  had  borne  her.  The  couch  was  empty. 


It  was  perhaps  half  an  hour  later  when  Thay- 
er  left  the  studio.  A  reaction  from  his  exultant 
excitement  had  set  in,  and  nervous  quivers  ran 
through  every  fiber  of  him.  He  felt  weak  and 
worn.  For  fifteen  days  he  had  been  keyed  up, 
at  first  by  inspiration,  later  through  sheer  force 
of  will.  Now  he  was  feeling  the  effects  of  his 
long  nerve  dissipation.  His  limbs  trembled  as 
if  he  had  just  recovered  from  a  wearing  fever. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  seek  the  outer  air.  He 
had  taken  a  hat,  and  his  hand  was  on  the  outer 
door  when  he  again  remembered  Clodah. 

Half  absently,  half  in  gratitude  for  her  part 
in  his  triumph,  he  turned  and  went  back  upstairs. 
He  tapped  lightly  at  the  door  of  her  room. 
There  was  no  response.  He  tried  the  knob. 
The  door  was  locked.  He  waited  a  moment; 
then,  with  his  mind  still  on  what  had  filled  it 
for  a  fortnight  past,  he  went  down  to  the  lower 
236 


WHAT    MANNER    OF   MAN 

hall.  As  he  was  leaving  he  caught  sight  of 
Hughes  and  called  to  him. 

"By  the  way,  Hughes,  I'm  going  down  to  the 
club.  Tell  Mrs.  Thayer  so  if  I  shouldn't  be 
back  till  late." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Hughes,  "and  beggin'  your 
pardon,  Master  Kirk,  but  I  saw  her  a  few  min- 
utes ago,  and  it  struck  me  she  looked  very  ill." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Thayer  abstractedly. 
"Nothing  serious  I  think,  but  perhaps  you'd  bet- 
ter send  for  Doctor  James,  Hughes."  Then  he 
went  briskly  out  and  down  the  avenue. 

Hughes  looked  after  him  with  grieved  in- 
dignation in  his  faithful  eyes. 

"Her  face  was  that  o'  death,"  he  muttered 
with  a  painful  foreboding,  "as  she  came  down 
them  stairs.  If  a  dagger  had  been  stuck  in  her 
she  couldn't  have  looked  in  greater  agony.  It's 
a  shame  there  ain't  any  but  men  in  this  house 
to  look  after  her." 

He  stood  in  indecision  for  a  few  moments; 
then  he  ascended  the  stairs.  When  he  reached 
the  corridor  that  led  to  Clodah's  room  he  again 
hesitated.  Finally  he  went  up  to  her  door  and 
knocked  gently.  There  was  no  answer;  he 
237 


WHAT.   MANNER   OF   MAN 

knocked  again;  still  no  answer.  A  sudden  ter- 
ror seized  him  and  he  thundered  at  the  door. 

"Mrs.  Thayer,"  he  called.     "Ma'am!" 

He  heard  a  faint  movement  within.  "Is  that 
you,  Hughes?"  Clodah  called  faintly.  Her 
voice  startled  him  by  its  thinness,  its  utter  lack 
of  life. 

"Are  you  quite  well,  ma'am?"  he  asked  anx- 
iously. "Because  I'm  on  the  point  of  goin'  for 
the  doctor,  ma'am." 

There  was  a  pause ;  at  length  Clodah  spoke. 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  get  him,  Hughes. 
And,  Hughes,  will  you  go  yourself?  I  shall 
feel  more  certain — "  her  voice  faltered. 

"Yes'm,"  Hughes  returned  with  an  unusual 
gruffness  put  on  to  hide  his  anxiety.  "I'll  go 
myself,  and  be  sure  to  bring  him  back  with  me." 
He  turned  away,  but  came  back  once  more.  "I 
can't  do  anything  for  you  before  I  go,  ma'am? 
There  ain't  no  one  here,  ma'am." 

"No,"  Clodah  answered  gently.  "Just  go, 
Hughes." 

Something  like  half  an  hour  later  Hughes 
stood  again  before  Clodah's  room,  and  tapped 
softly.  There  was  no  reply,  no  movement  to 
238 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

break  the  oppressive  silence.  He  knocked  again, 
a  third  time,  a  fourth;  then  he  softly  turned 
the  knob.  He  opened  the  door  gradually,  un- 
til finally  a  part  of  the  dainty  bed  came  into 
view.  Then  he  flung  the  door  boldly  wide,  and 
stared  about  him  in  a  bewilderment  that  had  at 
the  bottom  no  mystery  for  him.  The  room  was 
empty.  Clodah  was  gone. 

******* 

Some  intuition  that  lay  like  a  shining  pearl 
in  the  depths  of  the  serving  man's  nature  told 
him,  many  minutes  before  he  went  down  to  go 
through  the  rest  of  the  house,  that  his  search  for 
his  master's  wife  would  be  utterly  vain.  Plaus- 
ible explanations  as  to  her  absence  passed 
through  his  mind  mechanically,  but  in  his  soul 
he  was  convinced  that  he  knew  the  truth.  Clo- 
dah might  have  gone  for  a  walk ;  she  might  have 
gone  up  to  the  studio ;  she  might  be  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, the  library.  All  these  possible  solu- 
tions of  her  absence  passed  through  his  brain, 
but  no  one  of  them  dimmed  for  a  moment  the 
clearness  of  his  first  instantaneous  conviction 
that  Clodah  Thayer  had  gone,  had  left  her 
husband's  home.  He  stared  about  him  with  eyes 
239 


that  were  unseeing.  All  he  noted  was  a  bright 
splotch  of  color  lying  on  the  bed,  a  long  rosy 
garment  of  rich  brocade,  something  that  Clodah 
had  worn  down  to  breakfast  several  times,  the 
garment  she  had  had  wrapped  around  her  when 
he  had  met  her  an  hour  before  coming  down  from 
the  studio.  He  remembered  her  face  as  he  had 
seen  it  then,  pale  with  a  sickening  pallor;  her 
great  blue  eyes  wide  and  staring  and  unwink- 
ing. She  had  passed  him  as  if  she  were  unaware 
of  his  nearness  to  her,  though  they  were  so 
close  he  could  have  put  out  his  hand  and  touched 
hers. 

When  Hughes  left  the  bedchamber  it  was  with 
a  bowed  form  that  all  his  sixty  years  had  yet 
failed  to  bring  upon  him.  He  ascended  the 
stairs  slowly,  painfully.  After  all,  she  might 
have  gone  up  there.  He  pushed  open  the  door 
and  looked  in.  He  peered  eagerly  into  shadowy 
corners,  but  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Sud- 
denly the  door  bell  clanged  loudly.  He  went 
down  to  intercept  the  doctor  and  send  him  away 
with  the  plea  of  sudden  recovery.  Then,  as  in 
duty  bound,  he  went  through  all  the  house.  He 
was  standing  in  the  library  when  another  peal 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

rang  through  the  house.  It  was  loud,  impera- 
tive, insistent.  Another  like  it,  another,  and  an- 
other. When  Hughes  opened  the  door  Mrs. 
Davenport  stood  before  him. 


241 


Hilda  Davenport  listened  in  silence  'to  Hughes' 
hurried  and  broken  tale.  Out  of  all  Thayer's 
friends  Hughes  had  approved  in  an  unqualified 
degree  of  Mrs.  Davenport,  and  in  his  horror  and 
distress  and  fear  of  doing  anything  that  might 
serve  to  bring  the  matter  confronting  him  into 
needless  publicity,  he  was  inclined  to  look  on 
her  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance  as  a 
piece  of  the  divine  Providence  that  he  believed  in 
implicitly. 

"You  see,  ma'am,"  he  finished  with  a  voice 
that  was  thick  with  a  brave  effort  to  control  an 
uncontrollable  tremor,  "she  was  such  a  tender 
child.  At  first  I  thought  he  might  be  goin'  to 
remember  her  all  the  time  and  not  get  them 
spells  on  him  that  you  and  I  know  comes  on 
him.  He  was  that  lovin'  and  tender  with  her. 
But  by  and  by  they  began  to  come.  I  went 
so  far  as  to  deliberately  forget  myself,  ma'am, 
and  tell  her  something  about  what  she  might 

itt 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

expect  when  he  got  under  their  influence,  and 
she  took  it  that  lovely  it  touched  me  deep.  You 
see,  she  worshiped  Master  Kirk.  I  never  saw 
anything  like  the  way  her  life  and  breathing 
seemed  to  be  bound  up  in  him.  But  this  mornin' 
he  was  devilish,  ma'am,  beggin'  your  pardon, 
like  he  gets  sometimes  when  he's  clear  wore  out 
with  work,  and  tryin'  to  do  more  than  any 
mortal  can  do,  and  he  was  cruel  to  her.  She's 
been  up  there  with  him  every  mornin'  for  two 
weeks  now,  and  she  was  up  there  again  this 
day  with  him  in  that  mood.  What  he  said 
or  did  I  don't  know,  but  if  there  ever  was  a 
time,  ma'am,"  Hughes  voice  grew  deep  and 
solemn,  "when  I  could  a'  thrashed  Master  Kirk 
gladly  and  sound,  beggin'  his  pardon,  not  carin' 
whether  he  was  a  genius  or  not  and  subject  to 
queer  streaks,  this  noon  was  the  time  when  I 
met  her  comin'  down  the  stairs,  with  her  pretty 
eyes  starin'  and  black  with  pain,  and  her  face 
turned  whitish  yellow.  After  he'd  gone,  and  I 
went  up  to  her  room  and  knocked,  I  wished  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  ma'am,  that  I  was  a 
woman.  Master  Kirk  he  never  had  any  women 
servants  about  the  place,  and  when  he  brought 
243 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

Mrs.  Thayer  here  he  never  changed.  There 
wasn't  a  woman  but  her  in  the  house,  and  she 
needed  one  sore.  If  you'd  only  come  earlier, 
ma'am." 

"Suppose  you  take  me  up  to  her  room,"  Mrs. 
Davenport  said,  after  she  had  turned  the  situa- 
tion over  rapidly  in  her  mind.  "Perhaps  after 
all  there  may  be  some  word,  something  to  show 
us  where  she  has  gone." 

So  Hughes  in  bitter  sorrow  took  her  to  his 
young  mistress'  room,  and  stood  in  silence  out- 
side the  bedchamber  while  Mrs.  Davenport  went 
within.  Hilda  glanced  comprehensively  about 
her  as  she  entered.  She  noted  the  rose-colored 
cloak  lying  across  the  bed,  and  a  pile  of  hastily 
flung-off  clothing  on  the  floor  of  the  dressing 
room.  At  last  she  saw  the  little  writing  desk, 
open,  with  its  ink-well  unstopped,  and  on  it  some 
folded  sheets  of  paper.  She  took  them  up  hesi- 
tatingly. They  were  not  addressed,  and  for  a 
moment  she  was  tempted  to  open  them.  But 
she  laid  them  gently  down.  She  stood  in  inde- 
cision for  a  few  minutes  then  sat  down  and 
scribbled  a  few  words  on  a  loose  sheet  of  paper. 

244 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

"Will  you  come  home  as  soon  as  you  receive 
this?  Clodah  is  gone.  Hilda." 

She  went  out  into  the  hall,  where  she  found 
Hughes  waiting  patiently. 

"I  have  written  a  note  to  Mr.  Thayer,"  she 
said.  "Have  you  any  idea  where  you  might 
find  him?" 

"He  said  to  tell  Mrs.  Thayer  he  was  at  the 
club,  ma'am." 

"Then  try  to  reach  him  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble. I  am  going  up  to  the  studio.  If  he  re- 
turns unexpectedly,  I  am  there,  Hughes." 

Hilda  went  slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  to  the 
floor  above.  When  she  stood  before  the  studio 
door  she  felt  a  shrinking  creep  over  her  that 
comes  to  a  lingerer  without  a  death  chamber. 
Finally  she  put  out  her  hand  firmly  and  pushed 
wide  the  door.  The  familiarity  of  the  place 
rushed  back  to  her  sickeningly  as  she  entered, — 
the  long  mornings  she  had  spent  there,  the  lazy 
afternoons ! 

The  painting  which  held  Thayer's  last  work 
stood  with  its  back  to  the  entrance  door.  In- 
stinctively she  knew  what  it  held,  and  here  she 

245 


felt  was  the  explanation  of  the  tragedy  that 
had  occurred.  She  went  swiftly  over  to  the 
easel  and  stood  before  it.  For  moment  after 
moment  she  gazed,  and  as  she  stood  there  tears 
gathered  thick  in  her  eyes. 

"The  tortured  soul!"  she  breathed.  "Ah, 
Kirk,  Kirk,  you  have  done  more  than  merely 
crucify  a  body.  You  have  put  out  your  wanton 
hands  and  crushed  to  its  death  a  spirit."  She 
bent  closer  as  her  eyes  caught  the  gleam  of  wet 
paint.  "It  was  the  face  you  did  this  morning !" 
she  half  groaned. 

She  flung  out  her  hands  in  despair  and  went 
over  to  a  window  that  overlooked  the  street. 
She  leaned  heavily  against  the  casement  trying 
to  conquer  some  of  the  unpleasant,  and  at  this 
time  undesirable,  emotion  that  was  shaking  her. 
It  was  only  a  short  time  afterward  that  she  saw 
a  hansom  rolling  rapidly  down  the  street.  It 
stopped  before  the  house  and  Thayer  sprang 
out. 

It  was  in  the  corridor  leading  to  Clodah's 
room  that  they  first  came  face  to  face.  Thayer 
flushed  a  dark  red  as  his  eyes  met  Hilda's. 

"I  am  here  solely  )by  accident,"  she  said  with 
246 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

an  icy  note  in  her  voice.  "There  is  something 
in  here  you  should  see,  though  it  is  undirected. 
It  may  be  a  clue." 

He  opened  the  door  for  her  to  pass  through. 
When  he  entered  he  closed  it  behind  him. 

"How  is  it  you  have  so  relentlessly  made  up 
your  mind  that  she  is  gone?"  he  demanded. 
"Has  she  taken  things?  She  is  probably  only 
gone  for  a  walk." 

"Perhaps  you  know  her  wardrobe,"  Hilda 
suggested. 

Thayer  flung  open  doors  and  cabinets  with  a 
growing  excitement.  He  strewed  the  floor  reck- 
lessly with  garments  of  every  description.  Sud- 
denly he  looked  from  one  drawer  he  had  just 
flung  open. 

"The  little  peasant  dress  she  had  on  when  I 
took  her,"  he  muttered.  "It's  gone." 

"Ah!"  Hilda  breathed  softly.  She  went  over 
to  the  writing  table  and  took  up  the  note  lying 
there.  "I  don't  know  what  this  is,"  she  said. 
"It  may  be  a  message  of  some  sort." 

Thayer  snatched  it  nervously  from  her  hands. 
Wliile  he  was  reading  it  Hilda  scribbled  another 
one  rapidly,  and  gave  it  with  some  whispered  di- 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

rections  to  the  disconsolate  Hughes  outside.  She 
came  back  into  the  room  just  as  Thayer  turned 
toward  her  with  a  heavy  groan. 

"Here,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "read  it — you  have 
a  right.  I'll  tell  you  the  tragedy  of  contrasts 
later."  He  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  put  his 
head  down  on  his  arms. 

"My  father:"  Hilda  read,  to  her  surprise, 
"I  am  sore  distressed.  I  can  not  see  you.  I 
could  not  tell  you  my  sorrow  if  you  were  here. 
I  am  not  going  to  send  you  this  that  I  am 
writing.  But  I  can  look  at  the  words  and  think 
you  are  here  by  me,  and  so  it  comforts  me. 
There  are  things  about  my  husband  I  do  not 
understand.  I  try  very  hard,  and  I  get  no 
nearer  him.  I  know  so  little.  If  I  could  tell 
about  his  pictures  I  might  help  him,  but  I  am 
so  ignorant  of  his  life.  I  try  to  do  all  I  can. 
I  have  given  up  to  him  what  if  I  had  known 
about  before  I  left  home  I  could  not  have  gone 
away  with  him.  I  have  done  all  things  he  has 
asked  of  me  because  I  love  him,  and  because 
I  have  believed  he  knows  better  than  I.  But 
I  am  weary  to  see  you.  The  loneliness  is  more 
248 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

than  I  can  bear.  I  think  on  what  you  said  to 
me  the  day  I  left  home,  that  it  were  a  sudden  and 
hasty  thing.  I  can  not  write  you  now  such  a  let- 
ter as  I  sent  you  the  day  after  I  left  home.  My 
father,  my  father !  And  yet  you  said  to  me  why 
should  he  have  come  the  weary  way  back  for  me 
after  a  whole  year  if  he  did  not  love  me  truly. 
What  could  have  made  him  come  to  get  the  sim- 
ple maid  that  I  be  if  it  were  not  the  truest  love? 
For  I  am  his  wife  and  I  love  him  to  the  death, 
and  I  will  believe.  And  when  I  come  back  to  this 
room,  my  father,  I  will  write  you  such  a  letter 
as  will  make  you  happy ;  not  like  this  one  which 
you  will  never  see,  but  a  happy  one  such  as 
the  writing  of  this  foolish  thing  has  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  write.  Ah,  my  father,  I  am 
happy,  for  he  is  a  great  and  wonderful  man, 
and  such  men,  they  tell  me,  talk  with  creatures 
of  another  world,  and  I  should  not  wonder  that 
he  has  not  always  time  for  me.  I  will  write  you 
again,  my  father,  this  afternoon,  a  happy, 
happy  letter.  Your  Clodah." 

Hilda  laid  the  letter  gently  down.     She  stood 
249 


in  silence  a  moment  looking  at  Thayer's  bowed 
head.  Then  she  went  over  to  him. 

"I  think  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  she  has 
fled,"  she  said.  "I  say  that  with  no  knowledge 
of  what  passed  between  you  this  morning.  I 
have  just  come  down  from  the  studio,"  she 
added.  "I  have  seen  the  painting,  the  wet  paint. 
Now,  what  can  be  done?  I  am  thinking  of  The 
Rohan  when  his  daughter  comes  back  to  him 
like  this.  Had  she  any  means  of  getting  home  ?" 

Thayer  got  up  and  went  over  to  her  dressing 
table.  He  took  up  a  tiny  purse  that  lay  there 
and  opened  it. 

"I  don't  know  how  much  money  she  had,"  he 
said.  "She  had  the  heretofore  unheard-of  igno- 
rance of  not  knowing  how  to  spend  it.  I  gave 
her  a  good  deal  at  the  beginning  of  the  week, 
and  it's  all  here  and  more.  Confound  it!"  he 
added  with  irritation,  "she  might  have  felt  free 
to  take  a  gown  or  so  and  a  little  cash  along  in  her 
mad  career." 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  timid  knock  at 

the  door.     Thayer  went  over  and  flung  it  open. 

Hughes  stood  without.     He  handed  in  a  note. 

It  was  merely  a  sheet  of  paper,  folded  several 

250 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

times,  and  directed  hurriedly  to  Thayer.  He 
unfolded  it  hastily,  and  read  it.  Then  he  handed 
it  to  Hilda  with  a  grim  smile. 

"She  has  your  method,"  he  said  shortly.  "She 
doesn't  reproach  me." 

Mrs.  Davenport  took  the  sheet  with  an  in- 
dignation that  rose  almost  beyond  control. 

"I  had  thought  to  go  without  a  word,"  it 
opened  abruptly.  "I  have  not  words  to  say  what 
I  would,  and  I  dare  not  try  with  the  poor  speech 
I  have.  But  when  I  reached  the  station  I 
thought  perhaps  it  was  not  dutiful,  though  I 
know  not  your  laws.  But  I  am  your  wife,  and 
perhaps  you  have  the  right  to  know  where  I 
am  going.  It  is  to  my  father,  to  my  island  I 
am  going,  and  I  care  enough  for  you  yet  to 
bid  you  not  to  follow.  The  anger  of  my  people 
is  swift  and  heavy,  and  you  could  not  land  on 
my  island  unharmed.  I  have  taken  nothing 
you  gave  me.  My  father  put  in  my  hand  when 
I  left  him  a  sum  of  money  that  will  take  me  back 
to  him.  He  was  right  and  I  was  wrong.  I  have 
tried  to  forgive  you  my  shame.  I  say  over  and 
over  what  Hughes  told  me,  that  great  men  like 
251 


WHAT   MANNER   OP   MAN 

you  have  not  feelings  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  do 
not  look  on  aught  but  themselves  and  their  work. 
I  have  naught  to  say  to  you  but  good  by." 

The  note  was  unsigned  and  undated  and  sent 
by  a  messenger  boy.  Hilda  Davenport  read  it 
with  every  nerve  of  sympathy  alive  within  her. 
She  put  it  down  and  faced  Thayer  with  eyes 
that  blazed.  He  stood  before  her,  his  hands 
thrust  deep  in  his  pockets,  his  brow  drawn  in 
frowns,  and  with  a  hard  smile  about  his  mouth. 

"Speak  it  all  out,  my  dear  Hilda,"  he  said 
unpleasantly.  "The  tragedy  you  foretold  has 
occurred  with  all  the  intensity  you  could  well 
desire,  and  with  your  usual  good  fortune  you 
chance  to  be  in  at  the  death.  You  said  you 
would  put  in  your  Hold  you  so'  for  good  and 
all  in  your  congratulatory  letter  to  me,  and 
you've  kept  your  word  marvelously  well.  But 
the  phrase  is  on  the  tip  of  your  tongue.  Let 
it  come  forth,  I  pray." 

Mrs.  Davenport  looked  at  him,  the  light  of 
a  great  wrath  in  her  eyes.  She  saw  the  beauti- 
ful face  distorted  and  twisted  by  a  reckless 
sneer.  His  lips  were  parted  with  a  smile  that 
252 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

was  not  good  to  see;  his  eyes  were  aglow,  too, 
with  a  great  rage.  But  beneath  the  evil  smile 
and  the  frown  and  the  angry  eyes  there  lay  a 
subtile  something  that  Hilda  was  quick  to  pene- 
trate. The  eyes  were  heavy  and  full  of  wrath, 
but  beyond  all  the  evil  sparkle  there  lurked  a 
deep  pain  and  an  eating  regret  that  she  grasped 
at.  The  fury  within  her  own  eyes  died  down 
like  the  leap  of  a  flame.  She  moved  over  to 
him  swiftly. 

"When  I  say  a  thing  like  that  I  mean  it," 
she  said  softly.  "My  dear  Kirk,  it  was  so  in- 
evitable I  could  not  but  foresee.  I  thank  God 
the  girl  has  gone  back  to  her  father.  She  and 
you  will  be  happier  so.  I  had  feared  at  first 
so  much  more  fearful  a  thing  for  her  in  her 
despair.  But  now  for  this  chapter  in  your  life 
there  can  be  silence — " 

Thayer  threw  off  her  detaining  hand.  A 
sudden  change  swept  over  his  face  at  her  last 
words.  He  stood  almost  bewildered  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  turned  abruptly  aside.  He  picked 
up  the  letter  Clodah  had  written  that  morn- 
ing to  her  father,  the  letter  that  she  was  not 
to  send,  the  precursor  of  a  happier  message. 
253 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

That  was  what  her  dreamy  smile  of  the  morn- 
.ing  meant,  the  smile  he  had  stricken  from 
her  lips.  Over  every  detail  of  the  morning 
and  of  the  month  his  mind  flashed  its  rapid 
way.  All  the  revelations  of  her  love  for  him, 
a  love  that  was  mighty  to  stand  strong  in  the 
face  of  much  that  was  to  her  innocence  a  fearful 
shock  and  an  awful  revealing;  all  her  eager  de- 
sires to  be  of  service  to  him ;  all  her  winsomeness ; 
this  last  morning — this  morning —  Thayer 
turned  to  Mrs.  Davenport  with  a  face  from 
which  every  sign  of  hardness  had  gone.  It  had 
suddenly  become  haggard;  the  pain  that  had 
lurked  in  the  cynical  eyes  came  boldly  forth  and 
shone  down  upon  her  as  she  stood  before  him. 

"There  can  be  no  silence,"  he  said  slowly. 
"She  loved  me  with  a  love  that  was  unquestion- 
ing, that  asked  for  no  return,  and  may  her 
tender  spirit  forgive  me,  it  met  with  none.  I 
brought  her  here  with  a  purpose,  and  I  have 
fulfilled  it.  But  until  I  have  made  expiation 
I  shall  have  no  peace — "  He  had  stopped  and 
was  calculating  rapidly.  "Perhaps  I  can  head 
her  off  before  she  gets  to  the  island  if  I  start 

254. 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

to-night.  If  not — "  His  lips  set  in  a  fashion 
that  Hilda  recognized. 

She  made  no  comment  on  his  resolve,  but  she 
did  interpose  here.  "If  she  has  gone  to  the 
island,  Kirk,  she  is  right  in  saying  it  will  not 
be  safe  for  you  to  follow  her,  and — she  may  not 
come  to  you." 

He  winced  a  little.  "Wherever  she  has  gone 
I  shall  go  after  her,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Then,"  said  Hilda  swiftly,  "you  shall  not 
go  without  Harry.  Yes,  he  is  here.  Hughes 
just  brought  me  an  answer  to  a  note.  I  came 
from  Russia  to  meet  him,  and  in  a  strange  fear 
and  boding  premonition  I  came  here  first.  He 
shall  go  with  you  to-night,  for  he  is  the  only 
man  who  can  get  you  across  the  water-line  of 
the  island  if  Clodah  shall  indeed  have  reached 
there  before  you  overtake  her." 

Thayer  hesitated  obviously,  and  Hilda  smiled. 

"My  dear,  you  can  wrestle  with  bears  and 
throttle  lions,  but  a  bullet  from  The  Rohan's  gun 
you  can  not  stand  against.  Now  I  shall  leave 
you.  Harry  will  be  at  the  station  at  six  o'clock 
to  meet  you.  You  will  not  mind  him,  he  will  not 
weigh  upon  you  at  all."  She  gathered  up  her 
255 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

gloves  and  purse  and  dainty  belongings;  then 
she  came  over  to  him  with  a  tenderness  and 
comprehension  in  her  eyes  that  made  him  flush 
again.  She  laid  her  hands  on  his  breast. 

"Dear,"  she  said  softly,  "be  sure  before  you 
move  that  this  time  it  is  for  her.  Be  sure  that 
there  is  sincerity  of  desire  before  you' run  the 
risk  of  possessing  her  again." 

Thayer  seized  her  hands  and  pressed  them 
savagely  in  his.  His  lips  parted  as  if  to  speak, 
but  they  closed  resolutely.  Hilda  moved  toward 
the  door  and  he  went  over  and  opened  it  for 
her.  As  she  went  down  the  stairs  he  re-entered 
Clodah's  room  and  closed  the  door  softly  behind 
him. 


256 


On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  after  Thayer 
had  left  London  a  party  of  three,  two  men  and 
a  woman,  might  have  been  seen  standing  at 
the  Skerra  wharf  on  the  dreary  coast  of  Suther- 
landshire.  Half  a  dozen  sailors  down  on  the 
shore  were  busy  with  a  boat  and  its  launching. 
This  last  looked  to  be  a  serious  matter  despite 
the  sturdy  build  of  the  boat  and  the  skill  of 
the  boatmen.  The  sea  was  high;  the  whole 
coast  had  been  swept  by  a  fearful  storm  the 
day  before,  and  the  waters  were  still  raging. 
The  regular  boat  that  plied  three  times  a  week 
between  Skerra  and  Rohan  Island  was  out  of 
repair,  and  the  travelers  who  had  so  suddenly 
appeared  on  the  scene  had  demanded  immediate 
transportation.  For  hours  they  had  been  obliged 
to  lie  over,  but  with  the  first  dawn  of  day  they 
were  on  the  beach. 

The  journey  from  London  to  Skerra  had  been 
a  nightmare  of  inconveniences  and  disaster  for 
257 


WHAT    MANNER  OF    MAN 

Thayer  and  his  companions.  There  had  been 
one  mild  wreck  and  another  breakdown.  Thayer 
had  at  last  reached  the  stage  of  continued  and 
unappeasable  rage  at  the  incessant  delays.  Dav- 
enport had  been  a  tower  of  refuge  in  every 
crisis,  for  Thayer  soon  found  himself  beyond 
the  power  of  exercising  a  critical  judgment  in 
any  matter.  Hilda  had  stood  everything  with 
her  characteristic  composure.  Thayer's  un- 
bounded amazement  when  he  saw  her  at  the  sta- 
tion with  her  husband  was  turned  to  meekness 
and  submission  by  her  calm  statement  that  she 
intended  to  go  with  them. 

"Ought  she  to  go,  really?"  he  had  asked 
weakly  of  Davenport. 

Davenport  smiled  gravely.  "I  have  let  her 
decide  that  question,"  he  said,  "as  I  have  let 
her  decide  that  my  presence  here  was  a  necessity. 
I  can  only  add  my  conviction  to  hers,  however, 
Mr.  Thayer,  that  if  there  is  any  sort  of  feeling 
between  you  and  The  Rohan  you  may  be  wise 
in  allowing  me  to  accompany  you.  I  may  not 
serve  you,  but  at  least  I  shall  not  do  you  harm. 
As  for  Mrs.  Davenport,  she  tells  me  her  instinct 
forces  her  to  go,  and  she  is  a  woman,  Mr. 
258 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

Thayer,  of  remarkable  instinct.  I  never  stand 
out  against  her  when  she  begins  to  exercise  that 
gift." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Hilda  slipped  her 
arm  fondly  within  her  husband's.  Thayer 
stared  at  them  both  for  a  full  minute.  Then 
he  smiled. 

"I  suppose  you  know  I  have  adored  your 
wife,"  he  said  crisply.  "If  she  had  let  me 
I  would  have  made  a  mad  fool  of  myself 
and  of  her.  Instead  of  allowing  that  she  has 
turned  my  mad  worship  of  her  into  an  enduring 
friendship."  He  paused  a  moment,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  to  pierce  through  and  through  the  man 
standing  before  him.  "I  don't  know  how  much 
your  wife  has  told  you  of  the  cause  and  pur- 
pose of  my  trip  to  Rohan  Island.  Not  much, 
I  fancy,  it's  not  her  way.  I  should  rather  like 
to  have  you  know  about  it,  and  when  she  begins 
on  it  will  you  please  ask  her  not  to  spare  me?" 
Then  the  train  had  puffed  in  and  they  had 
settled  themselves  for  their  long  journey  to  the 
north  of  Scotland. 

When  at  last  all  the  delays  were  over  and 
they  reached  Skerra  it  was  to  find  the  storm 
259 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

raging,  and  no  boats  putting  out  that  night. 
All  the  way  they  had  inquired  persistently  for 
Clodah,  but  for  all  trace  of  her  she  might  have 
vanished  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  When  they 
found  no  sign  of  her  at  Skerra,  some  of  the 
fishermen  suggested  that  she  might  have  taken 
the  packet  boat  at  Tongue,  ten  miles  below, 
which  would  lengthen  the  sea  trip  for  her, 
though  it  would  do  away  with  the  awful  ride 
they  had  taken  over  roads  unspeakable  to  arrive 
at  this  tiny  fishing  village. 

At  last,  a  little  after  six  o'clock,  they  were 
off.  The  sea  was  rolling  high,  and  the  boat 
was  tossed  about  unmercifully.  All  of  them 
were  good  sailors,  but  the  passage,  always  dan- 
gerous, was  rendered  ten  times  more  so  by 
the  storm  of  the  previous  day,  and  the  pru- 
dence of  the  trip  was  questionable.  They  had 
gone  but  a  short  distance  from  land  before 
the  Sutherlandshire  coast  was  wrapped  in  a  fog 
as  thick  as  that  which  hovered  always  above 
the  sandstone  cliffs  of  Eilean  Rohan.  Daven- 
port was  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  working  with 
the  sailors.  Hilda  was  down  in  the  hollow  deck 
wrapped  up  in  all  that  was  available  in  the 
260 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

way  of  coverings.  Thayer  was  sitting  opposite 
her,  his  head  bowed,  his  face  pallid.  They  had 
gone  more  than  half  the  distance  that  separates 
the  island  from  the  mainland  before  he  moved 
over  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"I  never  dreamed  but  that  we  should  overtake 
her  before  this,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Where  is 
she?"  There  was  desperation  in  his  voice. 

"I  can't  help  but  feel  she  is  with  her  father," 
Hilda  murmured. 

Thayer  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  He 
began  to  speak  brokenly. 

"How  shall  I  ever  make  her  believe  in  me 
enough  to  know  that  I  have  come  to  take  her 
back  with  me  and  make  her  happy?  Did  you 
catch  that  pitiful  little  note  in  her  message  about 
Hughes,  what  he  had  told  her?  Poor  old 
Hughes,  I  left  him  all  cut  up  because  I  wouldn't 
bring  him  along.  He  has  a  blind  impression 
that  I  practised  the  black  art  on  her  up  there, 
tore  her  heart  out  of  her  body  and  held  it  up 
and  watched  it  quiver,  and,  my  God,  I  did! 
Poor  little  thing,  poor  little  thing !" 

Hilda  made  no  answer  and  he  did  not  seem 
to  expect  one. 

261 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

"The  loveliness  of  her !"  he  went  on  dreamily. 
"Her  tender  fancies,  her  bright  imaginings !  If 
you  could  have  heard  her  tell  some  of  the  things 
she  has  told  me!  That  Wizard  tale  of  Gling- 
gling  cave!  Oh — "  he  broke  off  with  a  groan, 
"the  night  she  told  me  that,  the  night  she  told 
me!" 

Hilda  listened  in  pitying  silence.  The  boat 
was  ploughing  bravely  through  the  rolling  sea. 
At  last  in  a  partial  lift  in  the  dense  fog  a  dark 
line  stretched  across  their  path.  It  was  the 
frowning  natural  barricade  of  Eilean  Rohan,  its 
reach  of  red  sandstone  rising  straight  and  sheer 
from  the  depth  of  the  sea. 

Hilda's  breath  began  to  come  a  little  more 
quickly.  That  she  was  about  to  undergo  a 
unique  experience  she  was  well  aware.  She  knew 
how  promptly  a  wrong  to  any  woman  of  the 
island  would  be  resented,  and  how  a  sin  against 
the  daughter  of  the  island's  king  could  not  be 
wiped  out  even  by  blood  atonement.  If  Clodah 
were  already  there — she  shivered  slightly.  And 
if  she  were  not — at  all  turns  there  was  only  com- 
plexity and  sorrow  and  tragedy. 

She  turned  her  head  at  last  and  as  she  looked 
262 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  little  cry.  They 
were  almost  upon  the  island.  Above  them 
frowned  the  great  red  cliff.  Below,  along  the 
rugged  curve  of  the  shore,  stood  a  group  of 
plaided  men,  their  faces  stern  and  lowering,  their 
weapons  ready.  Across  the  roar  of  the  waters 
rang  The  Rohan's  voice. 

"Turn  about  an'  go  back!  Ye  landed  here 
once  too  often,  man.  'Tis  nae  safe  this  day!" 
His  burning  eyes  were  glaring  savagely  at 
Thayer,  whose  white  face  stood  out  to  him  apart 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  little  group  the  boat 
held.  The  sailors  looked  uncertainly  at  Thayer 
and  then  at  Davenport,  who  all  along  had  given 
them  their  orders.  The  latter  now  sprang 
swiftly  to  his  feet. 

"Rohan!"  he  shouted. 

"'Tis  ye  yirsel',  Davenport?"  The  Rohan 
called  thickly.  "Wi' — that!"  His  long  arm 
flung  itself  out  in  fearful  scorn  straight  at 
Thayer.  Then  he  went  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  shore. 

"  'Tis  nae  use,  Davenport,"  he  said.  "If  ye 
yirsel'  hae  the  mind  to  step  on  my  shore  ye 
may  an'  welcome,  but  that  man,  the  one  yir 
263 


shieldin',  if  ye  flung  a  snake  black  wi'  venom 
out  on  the  land  I'd  take  it  up  an'  hold  it  to 
me  sooner  than  ye'll  see  me  let  that  on  shore 
alive!" 

Davenport  and  Thayer  felt  themselves  swiftly 
thrust  aside.  Hilda  stepped  in  front  of  them 
both.  With  all  her  wrappings  the  men  on  shore 
had  taken  her  up  to  this  time  to  be  one  of  the 
boat's  crew. 

"If  Clodah  be  here  let  me  see  her,"  she 
pleaded.  "I  have  come  with  them  to  do  what 
they  can  not  do,  what  you  will  not  let  them 
do.  I  have  come  to  help  you  to  help  her, 
to  do  for  her  what  you  can  not  do,  tenderly  as 
you  love  her.  I  love  her,  too.  Let  us  all  come 
in*  peace  for  the  sake  of  her."  She  stopped, 
warned  by  the  trembling  of  her  voice  that  she 
could  go  no  further. 

The  Rohan  had  been  staring  at  her  as  a  lost 
soul  might  look  on  its  savior. 

"  'Tis  the  hand  o'  God,  lads,"  he  muttered 
to  the  three  men  with  him.  "  'Tis  the  only 
woman  that  can  help  the  lass.  She  has  been 
led  o'  the  Lord.  Let  'em  come.  'Tis  nae  matter." 

264 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

In  a  few  moments  the  three  travelers  stood 
on  shore.  Only  The  Rohan  remained  to  give 
them  greeting,  and  he  stood  in  heavy  silence. 
Davenport  motioned  his  wife  toward  their  stern 
host.  She  went  up  to  him  and  touched  him 
softly  on  the  arm.  He  turned  to  her  and  looked 
into  her  eyes,  wet  with  unshed  tears. 

"Ah,  ma'am,  the  lass!"  he  groaned.  "Last 
night  it  was  she  came  frae  Tongue  in  all  the 
storm,  wi'  the  fever  on  her,  eatin'  her  life  awa% 
an'  her  eyes  so  wild  an'  full  o*  horror  they 
killed  me  an'  the  kindness  in  me  as  I  looked." 

"In  that  fearful  storm!"  Hilda  cried. 

"Aye,"  said  The  Rohan  bitterly,  "in  all  that 
weather.  She  made  some  fisher  lads  bring  her 
ower,  an'  they  did  it  for  her  an'  me,  though  it 
was  takin'  their  own  hands  for  the  preparin'  o* 
their  deaths  wi'  the  night  it  was.  Ever  since 
she  came  stumblin'  drippin'  wet  into  the  house 
she  has  had  one  name  on  her  lips,  there  be  one 
woman  she  has  shrieked  to  see.  Can  ye  wonder 
when  I  saw  ye  standin'  yon'er  ye  looked  like  an 
angel  sent  down  frae  Heaven  to  my  bairn  ?  She 
longs  to  see  ye;  the  beautiful  lady,  she  calls 


265 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

ye.  She's  lyin'  up  there  now,  dyin'.  She's 
goin'  swift  an'  sure — " 

He  stopped.  Thayer  strode  forward  and 
grasped  his  arm. 

"Dying !"  he  muttered. 

The  Rohan  shook  him  off  as  if  he  were  indeed 
the  venomed  snake  he  had  vowed  to  welcome 
before  him. 

"Aye,  dyin'!"  he  repeated  savagely,  a  white 
anger  in  his  voice.  "An'  who  shall  be  bold 
enough  to  say  it  shall  nae  be  a  life  for  a  life?" 

Thayer  stood  before  him,  bent  and  humbled. 
His  face  had  whitened  miserably  and  his  eyes 
were  terrible  in  their  despair.  The  Rohan  looked 
at  him  as  if  he  could  never  get  his  fill.  Twice 
he  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  and  twice  he  closed 
them.  He  started  at  last  to  lead  the  way  to 
his  low-browed  castle,  but  he  suddenly  turned 
back  and  faced  Thayer  once  more. 

"For  the  sake  o'  her,"  he  pointed  to  Hilda, 
"who  asked  it  for  the  sake  o'  her,"  he  flung  his 
lean  arm  up  toward  the  cottage  where  Clodah 
was  lying,  "I  hae  let  ye  come  on  this  my  island 
wi'  the  life  still  in  yir  miserable  body.  I  be 
gladder  an'  gladder  that  she  persuaded  me  to  it, 
266 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

for  if  ye  hae  a  speck  o'  human  regret  in  ye  I 
hae  a  fearful  punishment  in  store  for  ye.  Al- 
most I  see  repentance  in  yir  face.  If  it  be  so, 
a  great  torment  awaits  ye  up  yon'er."  He  led 
the  way  hastily  up  the  slope. 


267 


It  was  Hilda  who  first  went  into  the  little 
bedroom  where  the  only  daughter  of  The  Rohan 
lay  tossing  in  a  fever  of  brain  and  body.  By 
the  bed  sat  a  woman  of  the  island,  whose  sor- 
rowful face  told  her  sorrowful  fear.  On  the 
bed  lay  Clodah.  Her  face  was  flushed  with  the 
raging  heat  that  consumed  her.  Her  eyes  were 
bright  and  staring,  and  her  lips  moved  con- 
stantly and  rapidly.  Sometimes  she  broke  out 
into  a  rush  of  excited  words,  but  the  very  sound 
of  them  served  to  recall  her  to  herself,  for  she 
would  look  hurriedly  and  suspiciously  about  her, 
and  then,  the  flash  of  sanity  gone,  she  would 
lapse  once  more  into  her  burning  babble. 

As  Mrs.  Davenport  bent  above  her  Clodah 
stared  at  her  with  eyes  at  first  unseeing,  but  as 
she  gazed  a  sudden  recognition  came  into  them, 
a  soft  delight. 

"Ah,"  she  gasped,  "  'tis  the  beautiful  lady  I 
268 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

hae  longed  so  deep  to  see.  The  bright  day  that 
ye  come  to  the  island!  I  loved  ye  from  the 
moment  that  first  I  saw  ye."  Then  the  mo- 
mentary consciousness  faded  from  her  eyes  and 
she  sank  into  a  confused  murmur  of  talk. 

As  Hilda  looked  up  from  the  pillow  on  which 
the  restless,  sunny  head  rolled  unceasingly,  she 
saw  The  Rohan  and  Thayer  standing  in  the 
doorway.  The  Rohan  was  stern  with  the  self- 
control  of  a  great  grief.  Thayer,  with  eyes 
as  bright  and  shining  as  the  girl's  own,  stood 
gazing  toward  the  place  where  Clodah  lay.  Sud- 
denly he  took  one  step  forward.  On  the  in- 
stant his  way  was  barred  by  The  Rohan's  arm. 
Then  the  elder  man  caught  a  glance  from 
Hilda's  eyes,  a  tender,  sympathetic,  pleading 
glance.  Slowly  his  arm  dropped  to  his  side, 
and  Thayer's  way  was  clear. 

Side  by  side  The  Rohan  and  Mrs.  Davenport 
stood  while  Thayer  crossed  the  tiny  room  and 
bent  above  the  girl's  white  painted  bed.  All 
gleam  of  saneness  was  gone  from  her.  She  was 
tossing  a  little  and  her  fancies  were  becoming 
more  disturbing. 

"Dinna  crush  it,"  she  plead.  "The  little  white 
269 


WHAT   MANNER   OP   MAN 

blossom  dinna  know  it  got  un'er  foot.  Dinna 
crush  it  all  to  shapelessness." 

Thayer's  mind  went  swiftly  back  to  that  night 
in  the  studio  when  she  had  run  away  from  him 
over  to  the  black  pillar  and  had  crouched  be- 
neath it  in  half  terrified  fun.  From  there  she 
had  told  him  of  the  tiny  flower  that  lay  be- 
neath his  feet  as  he  came  down  the  side  of 
the  Red  Rock  to  meet  her.  His  face  contracted 
with  pain  and  shame.  Clodah  lay  murmuring 
to  herself  incoherent  petitions  that  he  could  not 
catch.  Suddenly  her  voice  rose. 

" — the  blackness  o'  the  face  an*  the  smile 
o'  the  mouth!  Unloose  me  frae  the  chains,  un- 
loose— 'tis  the  shamin'  o'  me — the  shame — the 
shame — " 

Thayer  felt  himself  gently  thrust  away. 
Hilda  had  come  back  to  the  bedside  and  was  bend- 
ing over  the  girl,  holding  her  close  in  her  strong, 
beautiful  arms.  "There,  there,"  she  said,  as  if 
to  a  little  child,  and  under  the  tender  voice  and 
the  calm  strength  of  Hilda's  body  the  wild  ex- 
citement into  which  Clodah  had  lashed  herself 
was  temporarily  stilled. 


270 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

Yet  she  was  quieted  only  temporarily.  Again 
and  again  the  wildest  of  terrors,  the  most  hor- 
rible fears,  came  upon  her.  And  through  it  all 
Hilda  sat  beside  her  and  lulled  her  back  to 
quiet  as  no  one  had  been  able  to  do  in  all  the 
weary  hours  since  she  had  stumbled  into  the 
great  living  room  of  The  Rohan's  home,  all  wet 
and  shivering  and  burning,  stricken  to  the  floor 
by  the  strength  of  the  fever  that  was  upon  her. 

Once,  when  the  girl  was  sunk  in  the  stupor 
that  followed  her  violent  delirium,  Hilda  left  the 
bedside  to  superintend  the  preparation  of  some 
soothing  draft  that  was  in  the  process  of  mak- 
ing in  the  kitchen.  The  Rohan  turned  aside 
from  his  station  in  the  doorway  to  let  her  pass, 
and  then  followed  her  out.  There  was  a  dumb- 
ness of  suffering  in  his  hollow  eyes  that  made  her 
heart  ache. 

"Mrs.  Davenport,"  he  began,  with  a  slow  heat 
of  anger  thrilling  his  voice,  "for  the  sake  o' 
what  ye  hae  done  for  my  bairn  in  comin'  here 
I  hae  let  that — man — in  her  chamber.  I  hae  let 
him  land  here  alive.  Tell  me,  in  the  name  o' 
God,  what  has  he  done,  an'  why  I  may  not  take 


271 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

him  out  like  a  dog,  an'  stan'  him  up  an*  shoot 
him  down?  What  has  he  done?  He  hae  killed 
my  bairn,  my  only  lass!" 

Hilda's  lips  quivered  at  the  helplessness  of  his 
hidden  grief.  She  hesitated  only  slightly  before 
she  spoke. 

"He  did  her  a  great  wrong  that  I  can  not 
tell  you  now,  but  in  all  honesty  he  did  not 
mean  to  do  it.  He  did  not  stop  to  think  how 
different  his  world  was  from  hers,  how  dif- 
ferently they  must  from  necessity  look  at  things. 
He  did  not  stop  to  make  allowances,  and  be- 
cause she  loved  him  so  she  would  not  let  him  see 
that  allowances  could  be  made.  But  when  she 
left  his  home  so  unexpectedly,  and  when  he 
began  to  see  for  the  first  time  how  without  mean- 
ing it  he  had  made  her  suffer  so,  he  came  just 
as  quickly  as  he  could  to  ask  her  to  forgive 
him  and  let  him  take  her  back." 

The  Rohan  listened  gloomily  and  without  con- 
viction. 

"The  chains  that  she's  been  cryin'  out  about," 
he  said  abruptly. 

Hilda  gave  a  little,  soft  cry. 

"You  must  not  think  he  treated  her  in  that 
272 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

way,  cruelly,"  she  urged.  "He  could  never  hurt 
a  woman  that  way." 

"There  be  other  ways,"  The  Rohan  replied 
sternly,  but  Hilda  could  see  that  a  raw  wound 
had  been  healed  by  her  reply.  Then  once  again 
he  took  up  his  silent  stand  before  his  daughter's 
bedchamber,  and  Thayer  all  the  while  kept  his 
place  at  the  foot  of  her  bed. 

All  day  and  far  into  the  night  the  delirium 
held  her.  Now  it  was  pleased  nonsense  about 
flower  fancies ;  now  about  summer  seas  and  white- 
winged  vessels;  now  empty  sound  and  unmean- 
ing jargon.  But  now  and  then  the  fevered  brain 
would  mount  higher  and  higher  in  its  wild 
imaginings,  and  she  would  shriek  out  horrible 
things;  now  she  was  held  fast  in  Gling-gling 
cave,  with  all  the  fabled  tortures  of  the  suffer- 
ing girl  racking  her;  again  she  was  being  cast 
into  a  hollow  space  filled  with  ravening  beasts. 
But  more  often  she  was  bound  by  chains  at 
the  foot  of  a  grinning  monster.  It  was  when 
this  vision  was  upon  her  that  her  wildness  be- 
came uncontrollable.  It  was  under  its  influence 
that  she  shrieked  out  broken  sentences  whose  hor- 
ror and  pleading  drove  The  Rohan  to  shut  every- 
273 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

one  away  from  that  part  of  the  house  save  him- 
self and  the  three  who  had  come  from  beyond  the 
sea  that  morning. 

Once,  in  the  midst  of  the  delirium,  when  all 
of  Mrs.  Davenport's  influence  was  powerless 
to  combat  the  strength  of  the  raging  fear  and 
torment  that  held  Clodah  remorselessly,  Thayer, 
for  the  first  time  in  all  the  long  hours  he  had 
stood  and  watched  the  girl,  groaned  in  an  utter 
collapse  of  his  powers  of  endurance  and  sank 
to  his  knees  on  the  floor.  Since  then  he  had 
not  stirred.  Hilda  bent  constantly  above  the 
bed,  sometimes  soothing  the  sick  girl,  sometimes 
helpless  before  the  strength  of  her  tormented 
brain.  So  the  long  night  wore  away,  and  as  it 
went  it  took  with  it  the  delirium.  But  as  it  went 
it  left  behind  it  a  weakness  more  heart-rending. 
With  the  gray  of  the  dawn  making  more  faint 
and  ghastly  the  candle-light  Clodah  opened  her 
eyes  after  a  long  period  of  deep  stupor,  and 
looked  with  grave  recognition  into  Mrs.  Daven- 
port's face. 

"All  the  weary  time  I  hae  known  you  were 
by  me  here,"  she  said  faintly,  "an'  I  hae  known 

274 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

too  that — he — "  her  voice  faltered  and  fell.  But 
her  tired  eyes  wandered  restlessly  about  the 
room. 

"Kirk,"  Hilda  breathed  softly.  Thayer  stag- 
gered to  his  feet,  and  came  over  to  where  she 
knelt  beside  his  wife.  The  Rohan,  within  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway,  folded  his  arms  across 
his  mighty  chest,  as  if  to  hold  within  him  his 
wrath  and  just  anger.  As  she  saw  her  husband 
Clodah's  eyes  wavered  for  a  moment,  and  she 
half  turned  away  her  head.  Then  she  faced  him 
proudly  with  a  calm  that  was  regal  in  its  sim- 
plicity. 

"Almost  did  I  cut  it  to  ribbons,"  she  said. 
"Before  I  left  I  went  back  to  see  what  it  was 
that  you  had  done  wi'  me,  an'  almost  did  I 
destroy  it  entire,  an'  then — something  in  it  held 
me  back.  It  must  be  great,  an'  if  there  be  in 
it  what  you  hoped  for — perhaps  it  is  right,  made 
right  by  that.  It  would  hae  been  all  right,  all 
wi'  no  blame,  if  only  I  had  been  loved  as  I 
loved.  'Twas  the  shame  o'  that  drove  me  from 
you." 

Thayer  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her.    He 

275 


WHAT   MANNER    OF    MAN 

took  up  one  of  Her  little,  bloodless  hands  and 
held  it  with  a  grip  that  would  have  made  her 
cry  out  had  she  not  been  past  all  pain  and  fever. 
"Clodah,  Clodah,"  he  groaned.  Something  in 
his  tone  brought  a  gleam  of  revelation  to  her. 
She  lay  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Perhaps  'twas  all  wi'  me  the  shame  lay,"  she 
murmured.  "Perhaps  you  didna  mean  to  shame 
me  yoursel'.  Be  it  all  as  it  may,"  she  finished 
wearily,  "now  is  nae  longer  the  time  for  all  the 
heart-burn  I  hae  felt  once — " 

With  an  utter  disregard  of  her  condition 
Thayer  put  his  arms  about  her,  and  held  her 
up  against  his  breast. 

"It  is  true,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "all  true, 
that  when  I  took  you  away  with  me  I  took  you 
away  for  that.  But  now,  O  Clodah,  Clodah — 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled  faintly. 
"  'Tis  too  late,"  she  murmured,  "an'  'tis  better 
so.  I  be  but  a  simple  lass,  an'  thou'rt  so  great 
an'  learned  thou  couldst  nae  but  weary  o'  me 
an'  my  silly  fancies.  Yet  there  be  one  little 
thing."  She  lifted  her  bright  head  from  its  pil- 
low against  his  breast.  "Feyther,"  she  whis- 
pered. Her  voice  was  already  growing  weaker. 
276 


The  Rohan  strode  over  from  the  door  where 
he  had  been  standing  with  Davenport  and  his 
wife. 

"Feyther,"  she  whispered,  "I  dinna  know 
what  I  hae  raved  over  in  my  light-headedness, 
but  this  man  is  my  husband,  an'  I  loved  him, 
an'  I  love  him."  She  moved  her  head  restlessly 
against  Thayer's  arm.  "All  o'  marriage  was 
strange  to  me,  an'  he  was  strange  to  me,  an'  I 
was  strange  to  him,  an'  God  will  forgive  us  both 
for  any  faults  we  did.  I  need  nae  ask  thee, 
feyther,  what  I  want." 

The  Rohan  towered  above  her  bed  in  impassive 
silence.  Once  he  tried  to  speak,  and  his  voice 
would  not  obey  his  will.  In  the  silence  she  grew 
restless. 

"Put  me  down,"  she  murmured  to  Thayer. 
"Let  my  feyther  hold  me  so."  Simply  as  a 
child  she  held  up  her  face,  and  Thayer  pressed 
a  long  kiss  on  her  lips.  Then  he  gave  place 
to  The  Rohan,  who  took  up  Clodah's  little  body 
with  savage  gentleness  into  his  arms.  She  lay 
against  his  breast,  her  face  hidden  in  the  hollow 
of  his  neck.  She  murmured  to  him  from  time 
to  time.  Still  he  held  her  close,  both  arms 
277 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

wrapped  about  her.  At  last  he  slowly  loosed 
one  hand  from  its  hold  of  her,  and  with  Clodah's 
happy  eyes  on  him  he  reached  it  out  to  Kirk 
Thayer.  As  the  two  men  clasped  hands  a  lovely 
smile  came  over  her  face.  She  turned  to  The 
Rohan  and  whispered  to  him  again.  After  that 
there  was  silence. 


The  next  evening,  in  the  light  of  an  island 
sunset,  the  body  of  The  Rohan's  daughter  was 
kid  reverently  away.  Through  all  the  simple 
ceremonies,  through  all  the  grief  of  The  Rohan's 
people,  Thayer  moved  with  an  agony  of  spirit 
that  seemed  greater  to  him  than  he  could  bear. 
Every  glance  from  the  honest  eyes  of  the  sea- 
faring people  was  a  lash;  every  word  a  blow 
in  the  face.  And  the  background  for  every  mo- 
ment of  the  wearing  day  was  the  memory  of  that 
simple  death  scene. 

The  Davenports  had  arranged  for  themselves 
and  him  that  they  should  leave  for  the  mainland 
immediately  after  the  burial,  and  late  that  even- 
ing, with  the  words  of  the  bare  service  still 

278 


WHAT    MANNER    OF    MAN 

hanging  heavily  over  them  all,  The  Rohan,  alone 
of  all  his  house,  went  with  them  down  to  the 
shore,  where  their  boat  was  manned  and  in  readi- 
ness. Between  Thayer  and  The  Rohan  there 
was  no  farewell.  As  if  in  memory  of  the  dead 
girl  and  that  alone,  the  two  men  barely  touched 
hands,  and  Thayer  was  the  first  to  step  aboard. 
Davenport  and  his  wife  lingered.  The  Rohan 
rested  both  hands  on  Davenport's  shoulders,  and 
spoke  to  him  with  a  face  that  worked  mightily. 
When  he  came  to  Hilda  he  took  her  hands  and 
swung  her  by  them  to  and  fro  in  the  intensity 
of  his  farewell.  At  last  he  put  her  gently  from 
him,  and  stood  with  bowed  head  as  she  and  Dav- 
enport stepped  upon  the  boat. 

As  they  swayed  out  on  the  waters  Thayer 
looked  back  on  the  island.  Only  a  month  ago 
he  had  sailed  away  from  the  same  lone  spot  in 
the  rainbow  glory  of  the  evening  sunshine.  All 
the  coast  had  been  lined  with  peasants  in  their 
Sunday  garb  waving  a  glad  farewell  to  the  bonny 
bride  who  sat  beside  him.  To-night  the  sunset 
glory  shone  upon  a  single  figure  on  the  rocky 
shore,  black  clad  and  bowed  with  sorrow,  and  the 

279 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

girl  he  had  borne  away  that  night  a  month  be- 
fore was  lying  on  the  other  side  of  the  island, 
her  pale  body  heaped  high  with  the  earth  to 
which  she  had  returned. 


280 


The  station  clock  was  tolling  out  the  hour  of 
nine  the  evening  that  they  reached  London.  As 
they  entered  a  cab  Thayer  gave  the  man  the  or- 
der. When  the  carriage  stopped  before  Thayer*s 
home,  the  artist,  who  had  perhaps  addressed  half 
a  dozen  sentences  to  his  companions  during  the 
whole  course  of  the  homeward  journey,  leaned 
forward. 

"Come  in  here,  both  of  you,"  he  said  quickly. 
"Let  me  put  you  up  for  the  night.  Come." 

He  did  not  wait  for  their  reply.  He  sprang 
quickly  out  and  went  up  the  steps  where  he 
pulled  the  bell  vigorously.  But  the  response 
came  speedily,  before  Davenport  and  Hilda  had 
joined  him,  for  on  the  first  vibration  the  door 
swung  open,  and  Hughes'  face  peered  into  the 
darkness. 

"Master  Kirk !"  he  said  eagerly,  all  the  pent- 
up  solicitude  of  the  long  days  and  nights  since 
281 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

his  master's  departure  in  the  old  familiar  greet- 
ing. 

Thayer  put  both  his  hands  on  the  man's 
shoulders. 

"We'll  go  back  to  the  old  ways,  Hughes,"  he 
said  unsteadily. 

He  disappeared  abruptly  within  the  darkness 
of  the  unlighted  library.  Mrs.  Davenport  lin- 
gered after  her  husband  had  followed  Thayer, 
to  still  the  suspense  of  the  man's  faithful  heart 
and  to  give  him  a  tender  little  message  Clodah 
had  whispered  for  him. 

When  she  at  last  entered  the  library  she 
looked  anxiously  at  Thayer.  A  swift  change  had 
come  over  him,  more  distressing  than  the  dull 
apathy  which  had  held  him  ever  since  they  left 
the  island.  His  eyes  were  bright  and  burning. 
His  color  was  high.  Every  motion,  every  quick, 
impetuous  word,  betrayed  a  state  of  high  nerv- 
ous pressure  almost  at  its  climax.  She  threw  her 
traveling  cloak  aside  with  quick  resolve  and  rang 
the  bell. 

"I'm  not  hungry,"  she  said  lightly,  "but  I  do 
want  my  tea.    Get  out  the  things,  Kirk,  and 
move  that  table  up  here." 
282 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

Thayer  went  quickly  and  with  relief  to  obey 
her,  and  while  she  was  waiting  for  the  hot  water 
she  talked  lightly,  almost  gaily,  generally  to 
Davenport,  now  and  then  a  word  to  Thayer ;  her 
whole  manner  as  free  from  the  ghastly  cheeriness 
that  is  usually  displayed  after  death  as  any- 
thing well  could  be.  With  a  quick  sympathy 
Davenport  aided  every  sentence,  and  they  were 
seemingly  in  full  tide  of  talk  and  laughter 
when  Hughes  came  back  with  the  service.  He, 
too,  looked  at  his  master  with  concern.  Thayer 
was  at  last  talking,  talking  rapidly,  and  his  fre- 
quent laugh  was  high,  and  sharp,  and  excited. 
Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence  that  had 
almost  all  of  the  old  disdainful  ring  about  it,  he 
stammered  and  faltered.  For  a  moment  he  sat  in 
silence.  Then  he  got  up,  and  his  cup  dropped 
to  the  floor  with  a  crash. 

"Come  upstairs  with  me,  both  of  you,"  he 
said  with  a  strained  abruptness.  "Come  up  to 
the  studio  and  let  me  show  you — "  He  stopped 
as  suddenly  as  he  had  begun.  He  did  not  look 
at  them,  did  not  wait  for  them.  He  left  the 
room  and  they  heard  him  ascending  the  stair- 
way with  stumbling  haste. 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

Davenport  and  his  wife  followed  him  in  si- 
lence. Outside  the  studio  door  Thayer  had 
paused  as  if  to  gather  strength  and  resolution 
to  enter,  and  there  they  caught  up  with  him.  As 
they  joined  him  he  fumbled  blindly  at  the  knob 
and  then  flung  the  door  open  and  stumbled  into 
the  room.  Hilda  shivered  as  she  crossed  the 
threshold.  The  great  height  of  the  studio  tow- 
ered above  her  with  the  loneliness  of  space  itself. 
Its  atmosphere  struck  a  chill  through  her  not 
purely  physical.  The  very  spirit  of  death  seemed 
to  hover  over  it.  She  stood  huddled  against  the 
closed  door,  drawn  together  in  a  shuddering 
tensity.  Everything  about  her,  material  things, 
chairs,  tables,  the  clinging,  swaying  draperies 
about  the  room,  seemed  to  hold  in  their  chemical 
atoms  something  of  the  unseen,  of  the  mysteri- 
ous aftermath  of  the  human  soul.  She  bit  her 
lip  hard.  In  the  dim  light  of  the  first  lamp 
which  Thayer  lighted  she  saw  a  pale,  dull  tapes- 
try beyond  her  curve  slowly  outward  as  if  a 
breath  from  its  figured  princesses  had  stirred  it. 
Then  under  the  glare  of  a  great  globe  of  light 
that  flared  out  near  her  where  she  stood  unno- 
ticed, she  caught  herself  together  with  a  swift 
284 


WHAT    MANNER   OF   MAN 

self-restraint.  Another  moment  of  such  imag- 
inings and  she  would  be  beyond  control.  She 
watched  her  husband  eagerly  as  he  brought  into 
ruddy  flame  the  ready  laid  fire  in  the  great  fire- 
place; she  watched  Thayer  as  he  went  from  ta- 
ble to  table,  from  side  bracketings  to  swinging 
globes.  With  the  dawning  of  the  light  these 
shadows  of  her  brain  would  flee  away  and  be  no 
more. 

Suddenly  Thayer  motioned  to  them  imperi- 
ously. She  went  over  to  him,  fighting  down  an 
almost  physical  repulsion  to  what  she  felt  await- 
ed her.  He  was  standing  before  the  illuminated 
canvas  where,  just  as  he  had  left  it  almost  a 
week  before,  the  figure  of  the  girl  shone  out, 
strong  and  pure  and  wonderful.  He  was  star- 
ing at  it  with  glowing  eyes.  His  voice  as  he  be- 
gan to  speak  was  low  and  eager  and  excited. 

"This  is  what  killed  her,"  he  said.  "Look  at 
it.  See  the  horror  in  her  eyes.  That  came  when 
she  found  out  why  I  had  married  her.  It  wasn't 
enough  that  I  should  see  the  living  horror,  but  I 
must  fix  it  tKere.  Look  at  it.  Look  at  it."  He 
wheeled  about. 

"Over  there  was  where  I  had  her  stand,  be- 
285 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

neath  that  pillar,  with  her  little  hands  fastened 
in  those  dangling  chains.  She  had  the  lovely 
courage  to  pretend  to  laugh  about  them,  but 
their  cold  chilled  her,  made  her  feel  utterly  help- 
less and  alone.  She  always  loathed  that  satyr's 
head.  The  leering  thing  always  had  a  hateful 
fascination  for  her.  The  first  night  she  was  here 
she  noticed  it.  We  were  standing  by  the  fireplace 
yonder  and  she  ran  from  me  over  to  the  hideous 
thing.  Hilda !"  His  voice  rose  shrilly.  "If  you 
could  have  heard  the  lovely  little  words  she  said ! 
*Isna't  queer  how  folks'll  mind  things!  That 
day  a  year  agone  you  came — I  can  ever  see  the 
white  wings  o'  the  ship  that  brought  you.  An* 
four  days  back — I'll  ne'er  forget  a  little  white 
flower  that  lay  beneath  your  feet  as  you  came 
down  the  cliff  to  greet  me.  An'  to-night — 
He  stopped  suddenly  in  his  quoting  of  her 
words.  "She  had  been  telling  me  of  her  ignor- 
ance, her  innocence,  and  while  she  was  trying 
to  put  it  all  into  words  she  had  her  dear  eyes 
fastened  on  that  grinning  head  and  she  told  me 
sKe  could  never  forget  it.  And  she  never  did, 
she  never  did !  It  racked  her  to  her  death !" 
Thayer's  words  came  more  and  more  rapidly. 
286 


He  was  laboring  under  a  growing  excitement. 
Once  Hilda  moved  slightly  as  if  to  go  over 
to  him,  but  Davenport  held  her  back.  She 
stood  within  his  arms,  while  Thayer  went  on  al- 
most without  a  pause. 

"I  recalled  all  you  had  told  me,  and  when 
at  last  the  moment  came  that  I  had  to  have  her 
for  this  I  told  her  in  all  gentleness  what  I  want- 
ed. And  even  then  it  was  death  for  her  to  yield. 
But  after  a  time,  after  she  grew  used  to  it,  she 
didn't  let  it  hurt  her  so  much;  and  she  was  per- 
fect. She  didn't  know  what  that  painting 
meant.  When  I  told  her  that  of  it  which  would 
have  told  any  other  woman  the  whole  story,  she 
could  not  understand.  Her  absolute  innocence 
was  beyond  belief.  Before  I  knew  her  I  have 
sneered  time  and  again  at  the  thought  of  any 
woman  on  this  evil  earth  so  snow-white  in 
thought  and  deed.  Then  that  last  morning  the 
devil  entered  into  me  and  claimed  his  own.  Time 
after  time  I  just  missed  the  line  I  wanted,  and  I 
grew  savage  with  disappointment.  Then  I  de- 
liberately tore  away  all  that  innocence,  all  that 
purity.  Just  so  truly  as  ever  Gilles  de  Retz  tore 
out  the  hearts  of  his  living  victims  and  held 
287 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

them  up  and  watched  them  quiver,  just  so  truly 
did  I  tear  out  the  soul  from  that  shrinking  body 
and  paint  it  there  in  all  its  agony  of  dying." 

He  stopped  at  last.  He  was  shaking  from 
head  to  foot.  Davenport  went  up  to  him. 

"And  she  died  loving  you  after  it  all,  man," 
he  said. 

Thayer  stared  at  him  blankly. 

"After  it  all,"  he  repeated.     "After  it  all!" 

A  soft  sound  broke  at  last  on  the  stillness 
of  the  great  room.  Thayer  looked  beyond  Da- 
venport to  where  Hilda  was  standing  alone.  She 
was  leaning  with  her  palms  outspread  upon  a 
table,  bowed  in  almost  utter  physical  collapse. 
It  was  her  sob  they  had  heard,  the  first  Thayer 
had  ever  heard  from  her  lips.  It  brought  him 
back  to  himself,  steadied  him  with  the  sudden- 
ness of  a  miracle.  Something  within  him  that 
had  wavered  for  hours  in  a  shifting  center  grew 
suddenly  still,  and  then  swung  slowly  around 
and  pointed  straight  again. 

"Don't,  Hilda,"  he  said,  with  a  curious  shake 
in  his  voice.  For  the  moment  he  could  not  con- 
trol that.  "Don't,  Hilda.  Listen  to  me:  I'm 
not  worth  it,  no  man  is ;  yet  they  say,  all  the  old 
288 


priests  and  prophets,  that  from  the  beginning 
innocent  ones  have  been  slain  for  the  guilty. 
Even  we  of  to-day  grant  it  freely.  And  the 
purpose  of  it  all,  and  the  use  of  it — I  wonder,  I 
wonder !  You've  told  me  I  was  born  out  of  time ; 
a  Greek  soul  thrust  naked  and  shivering  into 
this  age  of  machinery  and  clanging  steel;  with 
abstract  ideals  and  unattainable  desires;  and  in 
spite  of  all  that,  a  man  cursed  with  the  spirit  of 
Denial;  an  incarnation  of  the  very  essence  of 
Negation." 

His  hand  dropped  from  Davenport's  shoul- 
der. He  began  to  walk  restlessly  after  his  old 
manner  up  and  down  the  room.  Hilda  crept 
over  to  Davenport  and  from  that  refuge 
watched  the  man's  face,  pale  and  intent. 

"An  incarnation  of  the  essence  of  Negation," 
he  repeated  slowly,  "in  spite  of  ideals.  One 
who  denied  all  things,  was  fain  to  curse  some 
God  and  die,  yet  could  not  curse  Beauty,  and  so 
lived  on,  and  had  almost  denied  that  one  thing 
he  worshiped,  and  at  last  sacrificed  to  it, — the 
sacrifice  of  a  heart's  hope,  the  burnt  offering  of 
a  soul — and  by  that  sacrifice  attained — by  the 
gods,  yes!" 

289 


WHAT   MANNER    OF    MAN 

He  stopped  before  the  painting  once 
again.  For  many  minutes  he  stared  at  it  proud- 
ly, triumphantly.  Then  new  lines  marked  his 
face,  a  deepening  pain,  a  growing  wonder. 
Suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  over  to 
where  Hilda  stood  and  for  a  moment  his  eyes 
burned  into  hers.  That  one  moment  belonged 
to  them  alone  out  of  all  time  past  and  to  come, 
and  in  it  no  other  had  a  part.  For  the  first  time 
she  saw  in  his  eyes  the  birth  of  a  voluntary,  self- 
amazed  self-relinquishment ;  a  slow  dawning 
spirit  of  renunciation;  the  giving  up  not 
of  himself,  but  of  Attainment.  His  thought 
leaped  across  the  material  space  that  divided 
them,  past  her  bond  of  wifehood,  past  sex,  and 
questioned — spirit  to  spirit, — questioned  amaz- 
edly,  indignantly,  with  pleading.  And  she  an- 
swered not  at  all.  Only  her  eyes  exulted. 

Thayer  turned  back  at  last  with  a  short, 
quick  breath.  Then  he  put  out  a  steady  hand, 
and  slowly,  resolutely  pushed  away  from  him 
the  painting.  Davenport's  arm  tightened  about 
his  wife,  and  he  looked  down  at  her.  She  smiled 
up  at  him,  still  with  those  exulting  eyes.  It 
was  to  her,  to  Thayer,  to  them  all,  as  if  with 
290 


WHAT   MANNER    OF   MAN 

his  own  hands  he  were  laying  the  dead  girl  away 
a  second  time  and  finally,  from  the  gaze  of  all 
the  world ;  not  the  body  of  her  but  the  outraged 
spirit, — the  spirit  that  had  looked  across  the 
chasm  of  unfaith  and  betrayal,  and  seeing,  could 
not  return. 

When  he  turned  back  to  them  again  it  was 
almost  as  if  that  hour  had  not  been,  as  if  the 
past  week  had  dropped  like  a  pebble  into  the 
depths  of  some  still,  deep  sea.  His  voice  had  its 
old,  careless  note,  its  ring  of  indifference,  its  ab- 
solute lack  of  personal  emotion.  Yet  the  center 
of  things  had  shifted  again.  For  the  second 
time  in  his  life  defeat  seemed  victory,  and  vic- 
tory, defeat.  He  had  conquered, — and  had  con- 
quered,— and  to  what  end!  Surrender!  And 
was  that  Attainment? 

Yet  it  did  not  seem  failure.  He  seemed  to  have 
stepped  upon  a  plane  where  such  defeat  was  not 
loss ;  where  greatness,  his  -greatness,  was  of  lit- 
tle moment.  He  wondered  at  the  new  view- 
point, and  then  he  wondered  with  his  old, 
half  cynical  self-probing,  how  long  the  plane 
would  balance,  how  long  defeat  seem  victory, 
and  personal  greatness,  dross.  Yet  he  realized 
291 


WHAT   MANNER   OF   MAN 

too  that  the  old  self-inquiry  was  induced  not  so 
much  by  the  old  cynicism  as  by  a  new,  embry- 
onic self-doubt;  a  new  distrust,  not  of  human 
failings,  but  of  his  own.  He  smiled  a  little  as 
he  realized  all  this.  Then  he  slowly  turned  out 
the  last  light  and  left  the  studio  to  the  shadows 
of  the  dying  fire.  Outside  the  door  and  before 
he  closed  it  he  listened  a  moment.  Hilda  and 
Davenport  were  going  down  the  stairs  together. 
A  great  loneliness  swept  over  him,  a  sudden  wave 
from  that  waste  of  solitude  into  which  he  had 
been  flung  to  live  his  life.  He  half  recrossed  the 
threshold.  For  the  moment  he  understood  the 
spirit  of  the  Flagellants.  Then  something 
seemed  to  bar  the  way. 

An  old  phrase  wandered  through  his  mind. 
Half  unconsciously  his  lips  repeated  it:  "The 
Flaming  Sword !"  He  remembered  The  Rohan's 
arm  stretched  out  across  the  doorway  of  his 
daughter's  room.  He  shut  the  door  softly  and 
locked  it,  and  followed  his  guests  downstairs. 


Univ 


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3  1158  01164  8077 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGW 


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